


Various Lotrips

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: British Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Blindfolds, Clubbing, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-20
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 19,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of my shorter fics from my time in the lotrips fandom. Lots of stuff here, nothing very explicit; pairings are in the chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perfect Complements [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Billy?" The voice was slightly groggy. "It's five in the morning, why the fuck are you calling me?"
> 
>  
> 
> "I need your help. I need to go shopping."

"Hello?"  
  
  


"Dom. Help me."  
  
  


"Billy?" The voice was slightly groggy. "It's five in the morning, why the  _fuck_  are you calling me?"  
  
  


"I need your help. I need to go shopping."  
  
  


"At five in the morning?"  
  
  


"Well, no. I was thinking around seven. Want to get some breakfast?"  
  
  


Dom sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Billy wasn't usually a morning person - something that they both shared. He wondered what had come over him. Deciding that he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep at this point anyway, he agreed. "Fine. You're crazy, you know that?"  
  
  


"It's why you love me," Billy answered. "I'll be over in fifteen."  
  
  


Dominic pushed the 'off' button on the phone and set it down next to his bed, sitting up and groaning. God, he hated mornings. Though, he mused, he'd gladly wake up every morning at five if Billy wanted it.  
  
  


When it had started, he hadn't thought he'd fall as hard as he had. Sure, he had had a crush on the Scotsman, but really, who hadn't? And when Billy voiced the same feelings, over a night of beer and cards, he had been excited, yes. But he didn't expect to fall in love with him.  
  
  


Sometimes, the least-expected things had a way of happening.  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Fifteen minutes later - on the dot, Dom noticed with a wry grin - he heard the sound of a horn out in front. Giving one last rub to his still-damp hair, he grabbed his keys and dashed outside. Opening the passenger door, he took in the sight of Billy - hair tousled, eyes still vaguely sleepy (and  _how_ , how did he make that look  _so sexy_?) - before sliding in and kissing him in greeting.  
  
  


"Mmm. Hello," Billy said, smiling.  
  
  


"Hello to you, too. Shopping? Why?"  
  
  


"Everything in my closet is blue, Dommie. Blue. All of it."  
  
  


"You look good in blue."  
  
  


"I need something brighter."  
  
  


Dom looked at him. He did wear blue an awful lot, but it really did look good on him. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. "Okay. Where to?"  
  
  


Well," Billy replied, "I did promise you breakfast. We'll get that, and then...I don't know. We'll find somewhere."  
  
  


"Billy Boyd, PlanMaster," Dom joked. Billy swatted him lightly on the head. "Ow!"  
  
  


"Aw. Poor baby," Billy said as he leaned over the arm rest to kiss him again. Somehow it turned from a chaste, comforting kiss to one that held the promise of other,  _much_  less chaste things.  
  
  


As they broke apart, Dominic laughed softly. "If that's what happens when you hit me, you should hit me more often."  
  
  


Billy gave him a look over the top of his sunglasses that made Dom's insides lurch in a very pleasant way. 'Maybe I will."  
  
  


***

  
  
  


An hour later, stomachs pleasantly filled, the two strode into the department store. Billy turned to Dom and said, with complete seriousness, "I'm all yours."  
  
  


Dom nodded. Steering him towards the men's section, he picked out a few things that he thought would suit what Billy was looking for. He gave them to Billy, without giving him a chance to complain, and pushed him towards the dressing room, seating himself in one of the chairs adjacent to it.  
  
  


After several minutes had passed and Billy had not yet emerged, Dom stood up and walked to the door of the dressing room. "Billy. Let me in."  
  
  


The doorknob turned reluctantly and Dominic walked into what appeared to be a completely empty dressing room. Then, turning, he saw Billy wedged in the corner.  
  
  


"What're you doing?"  
  
  


"It's  _orange_." Billy's tone was incredulous.  
  
  


"What's wrong with orange?" Dom asked defensively. He liked orange. Was wearing it at that very moment, actually.  
  
  


Billy stepped out from the corner and in front of the mirror. "Dominic. It's  _orange_. I look like a fucking pumpkin."  
  
  


"Well, what about the other stuff?"  
  
  


Billy sighed. "It's all too bright."  
  
  


Dom raised his eyebrow. "You said you  _wanted_  bright."  
  
  


"Yes, well, maybe I don't," Billy replied irritably. Pulling off the shirt he was wearing, he reached for his sweater, but was stopped halfway across the dressing room.  
  
  


Pulling Billy into his arms, Dominic mumured, "You are a grumpy morning person," punctuating each word with a kiss.  
  
  


Billy melted into his arms and sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just...I woke up this morning, and I looked at my closet, and everything was blue, and I thought to myself, 'Billy-boy, is this how you're going to be? Monotonous?' and...I panicked."  
  
  


Letting go for a fraction of a second, he reached for his sweater and pulled it on. Straightening it, he turned towards the mirror and put his arm back around Dom. Their mirror images - Dom in his bright orange t-shirt, Billy in his blue sweater - looked back at them, and Billy smiled. "But then I realized that I didn't need to worry as long as I had you."  
  
  


Gazing at their reflections, Dominic smiled too. "Perfect complements, eh?"  
  
  


In response, Billy kissed him.  
  
  


***

  
  
  


As they drove home, Dominic mused again on the fact that sometimes the least-expected things had a way of happening. He'd certainly never expected to have sex in a department store dressing room.  
  
  


Life with Billy, he decided, was full of surprises.


	2. Milk and Cookies [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slashy version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

If you give Billy a cookie, he's going to want some milk.  
  
So you'll get him a glass, of course, because you can't resist that grin. Or that accent.  
  
Not that you'll be thinking about that, of course. You just won't want him to be thirsty.  
  
And when he's finished with the milk, he'll have a milk mustache.  
  
You'll wait for him to ask for a napkin, but he won't. He'll just look at you with a sparkle in those pretty green eyes of his until you ask him if he wants one.  
  
He'll shake his head no, and then, letting his pink tongue dart out of his mouth, he'll lick it off his upper lip himself.  
  
You'll back against the counter, clutching the edge to steady yourself, but you'll tell yourself it's just because it's warm in the room.  
  
Not because of Billy's tongue. Of course not.  
  


***

  
  
The next time you give Billy a cookie, he'll laugh and say you're trying to seduce him with sweets. He'll say that everyone knows the way into a man's heart is through his stomach.  
  
You'll laugh too, but something in your mind will nag at you and tell you that he's right.  
  
You'll have heard this voice before, and every time you have you'll have found it more and more difficult to push away.  
  
When Billy's finished with the cookie, he'll want some milk.  
  
So you'll get it, licking your own lips in anticipation.  
  
Sure enough, Billy will have a mustache again. You'll think that he's very much like a five-year-old sometimes, but then you'll push that thought out of your mind because it's a nasty business, lusting over five-year-olds.  
  
You'll prefer to think of Billy as a man, thank you. But not because you're lusting over him. No sir.  
  
Before Billy will be able to lick off the milk from the space between his nose and his upper lip, you'll brush it off with your thumb.  
  
Just being a good friend, of course.  
  
Later on, you'll ask Elijah what the space between one's nose and upper lip is called, and he'll tell you it's the filtrum.  
  
You'll commit that word to memory. Not because you want to kiss it. Just...for reference.  
  


***

  
  
The third time you give Billy a cookie, he won't accept it. He'll just ask for a glass of milk straight-off.  
  
When he's finished, he'll have milk collected tantalizingly on his upper lip and above it, and you'll concede that the voice in your head is very, very right.  
  
You'll push him against the counter and tilt your head down, running your tongue over his lips and into the tiny dip above his mouth - filtrum, you'll remember belatedly, and you'll decide it's one of your favorite things about Billy - and lapping up the drops of milk that are there. When you've finished, you'll press your lips to his, delighting in the fact that they open to accomodate your tongue.  
  
You'll kiss for several minutes, experimenting with different angles and intensities, and you'll wonder to yourself why you haven't ever done this before.  
  
When you break apart, Billy will grin at you and say he wondered how many of your shitty cookies he'd have to eat before you'd get the point.  
  
You'll look at him quizzically and he'll tell you to get him another glass of milk.  
  
You will, and he'll drink it slowly, and when he's finished, you'll notice that there's no mustache.  
  
Then you'll remember that Billy is usually very, very neat when he drinks.  
  
You'll grin back at him and capture his lips in another kiss, thanking the fact that you decided to make cookies and that the voice in your head is more perceptive than you are.  
  
Later, you'll hit him for saying they're shitty.  
  
He'll laugh and say that's really not the point.  
  
You'll agree.


	3. Right Now [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the lights out, it's less dangerous.

** With the lights out it's less dangerous **  
  


Dom wonders sometimes how Sean and Elijah can live in the same house and not be aware of it. Not be aware that every time they sit down to watch a movie - in the dark, always in the dark, because they all know that's the only proper way to watch a movie and Dom is grateful for it - he and Billy always claim the couch and never know the plot - or, usually, even the title. Not be aware of the musky scent of sex that accompanies both of them into the kitchen every morning - afternoon, really, because none of them want to get up before the sun is fully in the sky when they don't need to - or the sounds coming from Dom's bedroom nightly. Dom is sure that the entire world can hear his heart beating when he is with Billy, and he doesn't understand why Sean and Elijah don't complain about the noise. Not be aware of the fact that Billy's bed hasn't housed him, that his sheets haven't even been rumpled, for over a month. Not be aware of the glances they share whenever there is a moment to spare - glances with eyes glazed over in lust or in that ridiculous starry way that movies always show. Dom used to think that those kinds of glances didn't exist in real life. He knows better now.   
  
  


Sean and Elijah never see what happens when the lights are out, and Dom wonders how it's possible, but he's glad. It's safer that way. For now, at least.  
  
  
  
  


** Here we are now, entertain us **  
  


Billy sits nerviously on the edge of the booth, feeling Dom's hand slide slowly over his thigh - just enough to tease, not enough to satisfy; maddening and wonderful at the same time - and wonders if this isn't going to be their undoing, the best way of saying 'here we are', bar shouting (Billy loves that line in the book and has been looking for a way to include it in his thought process) because Sean and Elijah are sitting across from them and Billy's not going to be able to blame his flushed face on the beer because he hasn't touched the bottle in front of him yet, and he can't blame it on the temperature because actually it's quite cold in the pub. Or maybe it's just Dom's touch, the light graze of his hand; or his eyes, the smouldering glances that make Billy's knees go weak, that are causing goosebumps to form on his skin. Maybe it really is warm and it's just nerves and lust that are making him break out in a cold sweat. But Dom is carrying on a conversation like nothing is happening underneath the table and though he can't concentrate on what he's saying, only what he's doing, he catches two words - 'fuck safety' - and he sees Sean and Elijah nodding almost in unision with the sappiest of smiles on their faces - pure Frodo and Sam for a moment, and Billy is taken aback.  
  
  


And when Dom takes his hand off of Billy's leg and grabs Billy's hand, entertwining it with his own and setting them on the table for Sean and Elijah and the rest of the world to see, Billy realizes what he must have been saying; but he looks into Dom's eyes and then to Sean and Elijah in front of him and knows that it had been ridiculous to worry and that shouting is, sometimes, the easiest way to get things out in the open.


	4. Nothing [EW/OB]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah hates his eyes.

Elijah hates his eyes.  
  
He has been told that they are beautiful; inspiring; they have been compared to the sky and the ocean.  
  
Sometimes, he wishes he could rip his eyes out and place them somewhere safe, only to be used in cases of emergency. Then maybe his fans and the people who interview him would talk about something else.  
  
After Elijah presses his lips against Orlando's for the first time, he braces himself for a comment about his eyes. In his experience, if someone hasn't already mentioned them, that's usually the time.  
  
Orlando says nothing.  
  
Elijah thinks it just might be love.


	5. Duck! [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a "kisses in unusual places" challenge.

Billy burst out laughing for the third time in ten minutes, and Dominic finally tore his eyes away from the sunset to look at him.  
  
"The fuck is wrong with you, Bills?" he asked.  
  
Billy covered his mouth, trying desperately and failing miserably to stifle another giggle. The branch he was sitting on shook with his laughter, causing leaves to float gently down to the ground below.  
  
Dominic wasn't entirely sure why they were sitting up in a tree at sunset - Billy might've explained at some point, but he was too busy watching Billy's mouth to listen to what he was saying. He thought maybe they were in a tree at sunset to  _watch_  the sunset - which he  _had_  been doing until Billy interrupted him - but he didn't know if that had been Billy's intent.  
  
Billy managed to catch his breath, and said after a moment, "You didn't hear that?"  
  
"Hear what?" Dom asked, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
Billy's only response was to erupt into a fresh gale of giggles - they were definitely giggles, Dom decided; too high pitched to be considered real laughter, and if it had been anyone else, he'd have been reminded of a teenage girl. Or Elijah. But not with Billy. With Billy, it was endearing.  
  
Even if it was confusing as all hell.  
  
When Billy calmed down again, Dominic turned and straddled the branch so he was facing him. Laying a hand on Billy's shoulder, he asked, "Billy? Are you okay?"  
  
Billy snorted. "A duck!" he exclaimed, looking at Dom as if this explained it.  
  
"A duck."  
  
"You're telling me you really didn't hear that?"  
  
Dominic took his hand from Billy's shoulder and cradled his head in it. "Hear  _what_ , you mad cunt?"  
  
Billy laughed again. "That!"  
  
Dom strained his ears and, faintly, heard what sounded like a duck laughing. Which was absurd, really, because ducks didn't laugh - did they? Dom wondered - but it certainly  _sounded_  like it, and, unable to help himself, he began to laugh as well, which only set Billy off further.  
  
When they had both calmed down slightly, Dominic realized that he had missed the sunset. He punched Billy lightly on the shoulder. "Your fucking funny  _duck_  ruined my perfect evening."  
  
Billy raised his eyebrows. "Your idea of a perfect evening is sitting in a tree with me?"  
  
Dom blushed and began to backtrack furiously. "Um. I...um. That's not -" He stopped when he caught sight of Billy's smile. "What?"  
  
In response, Billy kissed him.  
  
Dominic let out a tiny gasp of surprise but returned the kiss eagerly, bringing one hand up to run through Billy's hair.  
  
When they broke apart, Dom leaned his head against Billy's and said with a grin, "Yes. Yes it is."  
  
"Is what?"  
  
"Idiot."  
  
"Hey! What-"  
  
Dominic kissed him softly again then said, "Is my idea of a perfect evening."  
  
Billy smiled. "Oh." Then, after a moment, "Me too."  
  
Then, somewhere in the distance, the duck started laughing again and the moment was ruined, but neither of them minded, really.


	6. Mix Tape [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst.

Dominic conducts his days like normal after Billy leaves. He wakes up - and if it is just slightly later than usual, no one blames him; takes a shower - and if there is a faint tang of salt lingering on his face, mingled with the harsh spray of water, no one mentions it; and stumbles into the kitchen for a cup of warmed-up coffee - and if he grips the cup just a little bit more desperately than really necessary, no one says a word.  
  
Dominic thinks he's doing pretty well, actually. If he's not, no one lets him in on it.  
  
-  
  
He likes to think sometimes that it was all a dream. Likes to think that maybe he just dreamed Billy's hands ghosting over his body; Billy's lips, soft, sweet, and pink, demanding and giving all at once, pressed against his own; Billy's embrace, warm and comforting; Billy's voice, lilting and caressing in a way he never knew voices could. Likes to think that maybe, just maybe, he dreamed Billy up completely.  
  
He likes to think sometimes that it was all a dream, but he knows in his heart that it wasn't, because dreams never hurt like this when they end.  
  
-  
  
"I know what you're doing."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're being fucking selfish."  
  
"It's for your own good."  
  
"You  _are_  my own good, goddamnit!"  
  
"You need...I can't give you everything you need."  
  
"What can't you give me? You're fucking everything; what else do I need?"  
  
"Fuck, Dom, it's hard for me too."  
  
"Then don't fucking do it! Billy...I don't know what you think I need, but I need  _you_."  
  
"Listen to me. I can't...god, Dom, no, don't do that, don't fucking look at me like that...you need more than me."  
  
A kiss, then:  
  
"I love you, Dommie. Always."  
  
Gone.  
  
-  
  
He concedes that maybe he isn't doing so well, that maybe everything isn't fine and fucking dandy, when he catches a trace of Billy's cologne in the scent of the wet paint on the buildings that he passes.  
  
When he can taste the tang of Billy's skin in the cool breeze that blows around him.  
  
When he sees Billy - only glimpses, but enough to make his heart stop - around every corner he turns.  
  
When he hears Billy's voice coming out of the newscasters' mouths as he stares blankly at the television.  
  
Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.  
  
-  
  
"Elijah?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"It's raining."  
  
A sigh, so soft he can barely hear it. "Okay. Where are you, man?"  
  
"The diner."  
  
"The one on the corner?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'll be there in a few minutes."  
  
"Lij...thank you."  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
And it's not because every time he hears thunder it makes him think of rain spattering on the windows, drawing abstract patterns on Billy's head and chest; of their first time together. Not because rain is inexorably linked with the softest of whispers and the sweetest of sensations.  
  
He just doesn't want to get wet. That's all it is. Nothing more.  
  
-  
  
The way Dominic conducts his days after Billy leaves is anything but normal. He wakes up - entirely too late, hours off his usual schedule; takes a shower - and his sobs can, on occasion, be heard even above the rush of water and through the closed door; and stumbles into the kitchen for a cup of warmed-up coffee - trembling as he takes it out of the microwave and adds the milk, stirring it absently until it grows cold and bitter once again.  
  
Dominic wonders why no one has said anything to him, because it's fairly obvious he's falling spectacularly to pieces.


	7. Billy's Turn [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Dom's fan club interview in which he lists his eighteen favorite things about Billy.

"Okay, Billy," the interviewer said, "Dominic wants to know what your favorite things about  _him_  are."  
  
Billy groaned and dropped his head into his hands. From behind him, Dominic laughed.  
  
"I should have known that would come back to bite me," he said, turning around to glare at Dominic, who gave him an innocent smile. "How many?"  
  
"As many as you can think of, mate," Dominic said with a chuckle.  
  
"Right then." Billy nodded. "Well...let's see. Number one...his nose, definitely. It's a ridiculous-looking nose, really, but for some reason it's adorable."  
  
Sighing, Billy continued, "I suppose number two would have to be his ability to turn my vocabulary into that of a fourteen-year-old girl's.  
  
"Three...when we were in New Zealand, he was always coming up with something new to do. He's very spontaneous, which is great, because I'm...well, not, a lot of the time. He was always dragging me off to one place or another, and it was usually a lot of fun.  
  
"Four...he's a really caring guy. He's always there when you need him. He and Sean Astin were sort of the ones people went to when they had a problem.  
  
"Five...his hands. He's got," Billy chuckled softly, " _really_  amazing hands. They're strong and firm and, you know, usually a billboard for whatever cause he's currently pursuing.  
  
"Six, then, would have to be that he's incredibly passionate. He'll get into something - like the Carbon Neutral thing that he's doing now - and he'll completely throw himself into it. It's really inspiring.  
  
"Seven...he dresses like a total idiot a lot of the time. It's great. Makes me look put-together when we go out.  
  
"Eight...he's really sensitive. He's going to kill me later, but...I've seen him tear up a few times at movies. He's not afraid to show that something moves him.  
  
"Nine...he's got really, really incredible eyes. I've heard people compare Elijah's eyes to the ocean, but Dommie's, I think, really fit the description better. They'll be stormy and grey one minute and sort of deep blue the next, depending on what his mood is.  
  
"Ten...he has a very expressive face. It's easy to tell how he's feeling, or if he's lying - which makes playing cards with him great!  
  
"Eleven...he has a really strong sense of loyalty. Above and beyond what you'd usually find in a friend.  
  
"Twelve...fantastic laugh.  
  
"Thirteen...when we were shooting, we'd have times where they were fixing things and we'd have to stay on set, and Dom was always thinking up ways to keep us occupied. I'm sure you've heard the Tig story before - stuff like that. Really stupid things, but it kept us from being bored.  
  
"Fourteen...he's a complete child sometimes."  
  
Dominic snorted indignantly, and Billy hastily continued, "No, I mean it in a good way! I remember one time, he and Elijah and I went to this toy shop in LA, and Dommie just raced around picking up things and saying 'Billy, isn't this great, isn't this  _fantastic_?' He gets excited really easily, and he's got so much...just _enthusiasm_  for life.  
  
"Fifteen...well, I know he said this about me, but it goes both ways - he's gotten me into several bands that I've really enjoyed. He's got great taste in music.  
  
"Sixteen...he kicks my ass at Trivial Pursuit. He has this huge store of absolutely useless knowledge that I find fascinating.  
  
"Seventeen..." Billy turned a faint shade of red. "Ah, well, no, I won't say that...um, he's really great with kids. I can see him being an excellent father someday."  
  
The interviewer smiled. "Okay, how about one more to make it even with Dom's list, and then we'll finish the rest of the interview?"  
  
Billy nodded. "Right. Well, there's this one distinct memory I have from sort of early on in filming - it was maybe two weeks or so in, and we had been shooting all day, and Dom and I were both absolutely exhausted, but we were also too sort of...keyed up to go to sleep. So we went for a walk at one in the morning and ended up on this hill not too far away from our trailer. And we just sat there for hours, talking and getting to know each other, and I told him...a lot of things that I'd never really told anyone else. He's just...Dom's really easy to talk to and you feel immediately as though you can trust him. And mind you, Peter was furious when we stumbled in the next day, half-dead from lack of sleep, but it was worth it. I think that was the first night I really started thinking of him as my best friend."  
  
"Excellent," the interviewer said, nodding. "Now, what have you been doing lately with..."  
  


***

  
  
Dominic smiled as they got into the car.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You like my nose?"  
  
"Of course, you idiot. It's what made me fall in love with you in the first place."  
  
Dom looked at him in surprise. "It was?"  
  
"Yeah," Billy responded. "D'you remember that time you and Elwood and Astin and I went out for ice cream?"  
  
"When we nearly got kicked out?"  
  
"Yeah. You got vanilla ice cream on your nose and you looked fucking ridiculous, and..." Billy trailed off. "I don't know. Made me realize I was in love with you."  
  
He snorted. "Of course,  _that's_  what you'd focu-mmph!" Dominic's lips on his own cut him off.  
  
"Mmm," he said, breaking away, "you know, I wanted to put your lips on that list, but I didn't think it would fit in well with the 'Friendly Heterosexual Hobbits' image they're so keen on us having."  
  
Dominic laughed. "Probably not."  
  
After a few moments, he spoke up again.  
  
"Billy?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What was seventeen?"  
  
"Oh," Billy grinned. "Funny, I don't remember. I know it involved your lips, though. And ice cream, come to think of it."  
  
Dominic raised one eyebrow suggestively. "I suppose," he said in a low voice, "I'll have to remind you, then?"  
  
Billy grinned again. "I suppose you will."


	8. Echo [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst.

Billy is struck occasionally by how much life imitates art. He knows that sometimes - like how Sean has taken up caring for Elijah; or Viggo's insistance that his sword accompanies him at all times - it's a conscious decision, an attempt to gain insight into and find depth in one's character.  
  
::  
  
The porcelain is slick and hard and cold underneath him; so cold that it seeps through the thin fabric of his trousers and makes him shiver, chills like icy fingers running up and down his back.  
  
He hunches over, lays his head on too-sharp knees, and wonders, somewhere far back in his mind, as his hands come up to tangle in his dampened hair, if he's locked the door.  
  
The steady dripping of the tap - oddly distant as though it is half the world away instead of just a few feet - keeps him company but gives him no answer.  
  
  
::  
  
He also knows that most of the time there's no thought involved; it just  _is_. Like how everyone gravitates towards Ian when advice is needed. Like how Bean distances himself just enough to keep things impersonal. Like how Orlando moves with a catlike grace that wasn't there when filming began.  
  
::  
  
The glow from the plug-in light on the wall casts a sickly glow on the surroundings; harsh and mocking in its impersonality and he squeezes his eyes shut, gratified when colors - white dissolving rapidly into bright reds and yellows - emerge like fireworks behind his eyelids.  
  
It builds in his stomach, a sort of portentous rumbling that he's surprised doesn't bounce off the walls and richochet back at him, then moves its way slowly up his throat and to his mouth, but he presses his lips tightly together until it hurts and covers his ears, because he's nothing if not cautious.  
  
::  
  
He knows, too, that it doesn't always happen. Like how John separates himself from everyone. Like how Merry is older and wiser than Pippin but Billy usually looks out for Dominic. Subtle distinctions that make the blurry line between fantasy and reality several degrees sharper; just slightly more in focus.  
  
::  
  
Warm amber light spilling in from the hallway gives him his answer but he doesn't look up, doesn't make any sort of acknowledgement, just continues to rock back and forth until he feels something completely different begin to churn in his stomach.  
  
Then there is someone else with him and the bathtub suddenly seems much too small; a hand - feverishly warm in contrast - cups his chin and forces his gaze onto blue-grey eyes and then strong arms are around him, soft voice whispering words of comfort, and only then does Billy unlock his lips and let the scream spill forth.  
  
::  
  
Sometimes it happens, and sometimes it doesn't.  
  
Billy looks out for Dominic, but, on occasion, roles are reversed.  
  
Only not, because sometimes life imitates art.


	9. Anything You Can Do [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a "dialogue-only" challenge.

"Hey Billy, I bet I can touch all the tables in here faster than you."  
  
"You're mad."  
  
"C'mon. What else are we going to do?"  
  
"Oh, fine."  
  
"Okay, you go first."  
  
"The things you do to keep yourself amused..."  
  
"Shut up. Okay...go!"  
  
"How long was that?"  
  
"Er...twenty seconds."  
  
"You're not beatin' that."  
  
"Watch me."  
  
"Go."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"...well, look at that. Must've forgotten to start the stopwatch."  
  
"Billy!"  
  
"Guess that means I win."  
  
\--  
  
"I bet I can surf better than you."  
  
"You do, do you?"  
  
"Yes I do."  
  
"Into the water we go, then."  
  
"Ha! I told you I - oof!"  
  
"Looks like I win."  
  
"You pushed me!"  
  
"Yeah, well, there's an indication of your talent, isn't it? S'posed to be able to stay on."  
  
"Oh, you fucking..."  
  
"Such a sore loser."  
  
\--  
  
"Bet I can kiss better than you."  
  
"I've got age and experience over you. There's no way."  
  
"That so?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
"...how do we judge that?"  
  
"Call it a tie?"  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
\--  
  
"Bet I give better blowjobs than you do."  
  
"Never let it be said Dominic Monaghan steps down from a challenge. Off with the pants, Boyd."


	10. Breathe [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a "clubfic" challenge.

The music is hard and pulsating, shooting straight through Dominic as he makes his way across the floor. The unopened bottle of beer in his hand is sweaty with condensation and he rolls it across his fevered neck, droplets of moisture rolling down to wet his already-soaked shirt and pool in the hollow of his collarbone before moving down to trace unseen patterns on his chest.  
  
Reaching the table, he sets the beer down and grasps the bottom of his shirt, pulling it off and leaving him in a thin white tank top that clings and shows the outline of hard nipples.  
  
Grinning at Elijah, who is nursing a bottle of his own, he pops the top and takes a long swig, neck muscles straining as he tips his head back, Adam's apple bobbing.  
  
"Seen Billy?" he yells over the music, proud of his casual tone.  
  
Elijah laughs and points with his bottle.  
  
A smile forms on Dominic's face, so different from the grin that was there a moment before - this is slow and hungry, complete with flashbright twinkling eyes, as his gaze settles where Elijah's illegal beverage of choice is directed.  
  
The strobelights throw Billy's face alternately into sharp relief and harsh darkness as he moves with the music, head tipped back and eyes closed; as Dominic makes his way towards him, a pink tongue worms out and wets parched lips, and Dominic feels himself grow hard, the thrumming bassline shuddering its way down his spine to settle directly in his groin.  
  
As he gets closer he can see beads of sweat rolling down Billy's face and disappearing into the open collar of his button-down shirt; closer still and he can smell Billy's sweat-soaked hair, streaked pink and orange by the flashing lights - vanilla and spices mixed with something uniquely Billy; so heady and intoxicating that it almost sends Dominic reeling.  
  
Orlando dances directly behind him, Billy's head resting on his shoulder, his arms thrown loosely around Billy's neck, both sets of hips gyrating as one, and the image is so gorgeous and fluid and erotic that Dominic hesitates for a moment before shoving Orlando out of the way - much more forcefully than he'd meant to, but the music has changed into something just as hard but slower, more sensual, and he knows that it's now or never; that he'll lose his nerve if he waits any longer.  
  
Orlando looks around angrily then spots him; he grins and mouths "he's all yours" before disappearing into the writhing, sparkling mass of bodies around them.  
  
He moves in behind Billy, arms going tightly around his waist, and presses himself gently to him, cock straining against his jeans but he holds himself back, waiting.  
  
Billy's eyes snap open in confusion then focus on him, turning bright silvergreen and glittering dangerously.  
  
Pressing back against Dominic, he begins to grind it time with the music as Dominic's hands find their way into his shirt and caress his chest, fingers squeezing nipples, causing Billy to push back harder, eliciting groans from both parties.  
  
He turns and Dominic pushes one thigh between his, hips locking together, hands moving in tandem between them  
  
Billy leans his head forward to rest in the crook of Dominic's neck, tongue licking a path from shoulder to ear, then down and up again.  
  
"What took you so long then?" he whispers, but Dominic can hear him anyway, and he grins, pulling Billy closer and grinding harder.  
  
"Scared?" he offers, licking the shell of Billy's ear, smiling as he shudders; moaning as Billy returns the favor.  
  
"Idiot," Billy says, pulling away and resting his forehead on Dominic's.  
  
"Yeah, well," Dominic replies.  
  
Soft lips meet as a hand comes down and unzips Dominic's jeans, stroking his erection through cotton boxers, and he moans into Billy's mouth.  
  
"Bathroom?" he asks, bucking against Billy's hand.  
  
"God yes," Billy answers, and Dominic isn't sure if it's the lights or something else that's making his eyes flash like that, but as Billy grabs his hand and pulls him away from the music, he's not entirely sure he cares.


	11. It's About Time [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Dominic, falling takes less than four minutes.

At the baggage claim Dominic struggles to pull his suitcase off the revolving belt, cursing under his breath as his stomach ties itself in knots; he stomps ineffectually at the ground in frustration. Suddenly, a hand appears and tugs - once, twice, three times - and his suitcase is free.  
  
He turns and is assaulted by messy dark blonde hair and a nervous grin. He opens his mouth to speak, but -  
  
"Dominic?"  
  
"Meriadoc Brandybuck, at your service," he says, bowing low.  
  
The other man's grin grows, ceasing to be nervous, green eyes sparkling with mirth.  
  
"Pippin. Billy. Hi," he answers, pulling Dominic into a tight embrace, laughter tickling his ear.  
  
For Dominic, falling takes less than four minutes.  
  
\---  
  
Standing motionless - for one hour, five minutes, and no visible end to speak of - is not the way Dominic likes to spend his five-in-the-mornings. Months of this - day after day after day - has not made it any easier and he groans loudly, burying his face in his hands.  
  
Billy looks up, bleary-eyed, from his perch across the room.  
  
"Whatsit, Dommie?"  
  
" 'm fuckin' tired," he responds, forehead crinkling as he frowns.  
  
Sean laughs, too bright and bubbly a sound for so early. "You should try sleeping once in a while. I hear there've been studies that say it helps that sort of thing."  
  
Dominic cranes his neck and fixes Sean with a hard glare. "Hate you."  
  
"I'm just saying," Sean says, hands held up in mock-surrender.  
  
Billy rubs the back of his hand across his eyes. "Those my pants?"  
  
Dominic looks down. "Er. Yeah."  
  
"What've  _you_  two been up to?" Elijah asks with a grin.  
  
Billy rolls his eyes. "Gutter," he mumbles. "He stayed at my place last night.  _On the couch_ ," he adds as Elijah cocks one eyebrow.  
  
Dominic says nothing, rubbing his hands absently over the worn fabric slung low on his hips, mind on moonlit-pale skin, seen only from a distance.  
  
\---  
  
Dominic is knocked flat onto his back as Billy speeds into the trailer, barreling straight into him.  
  
"The fuck?" he pants as Billy straddles his legs, pinning him down, and Dominic doesn't struggle.  
  
"Tig!" Billy exclaims gleefully.  
  
Dominic looks at him incredulously.  
  
"I'll give you 'Tig'," he growls after a moment, bringing up his hands to Billy's abdomen and wiggling his fingers.  
  
Billy shouts and reciprocates quickly, and soon they are rolling on the floor, locked together in helpless laughter as fingers move, caressing ticklish spots mercilessly.  
  
"Enough," Dominic gasps as Billy fights his way on top of him again, "enough, I give."   
  
As Billy's hands stop moving, Dominic is suddenly hyper-aware of just how close their faces are - noses touching, foreheads pressed together, and lips - lips mere millimeters away from each other.  
  
Billy lingers there - one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, Dominic counts silently - studies Dominic's face intently - four-one thousand, five-one thousand, six-one thousand - licks his lips slowly, and if Dominic were to move a fraction of an inch that tongue would be caressing his lips as well, but he can't move, can scarcely even breathe - seven-one thousand, eight-one thousand - then rises, dusting himself off and offering Dominic his hand.  
  
"That's against the rules, you know," Billy informs him. "You can't tickle on a Tig."  
  
Dominic just stares.  
  
\---  
  
Dominic has been giving Billy heated glances over the rim of his mug for twelve minutes and counting now, taking small sips to ensure the coffee lasts him just a bit longer, to ensure that he is allowed to stare a little bit more.  
  
Elijah suppresses a smile when Billy rises abruptly and takes the cup out of Dominic's hands, setting it on the table and hauling him out of his chair. Dominic blinks - once, twice - then stumbles as Billy pushes him towards the bedroom without a word.  
  
Orlando follows quietly, pressing his ear against the door; he sneaks back to the kitchen and reports low voices and soft laughter.  
  
Seven minutes later, an triumphant yell can be heard; Dominic runs out, full-tilt, arms in the air; stops; grins, then runs back, slamming the door behind him.  
  
In the kitchen, Elijah and Orlando exchange knowing glances, then turn back to their breakfast.  
  
In the bedroom, Billy laughs until he cries.


	12. No Such Thing as Accidents [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Monday morning Billy forgets to lock the bathroom door.

Every Monday morning Billy forgets to lock the bathroom door.  
  
::  
  
The first time could easily have been an accident; he had stumbled bleary-eyed, into the bathroom and swung the door shut behind him, but all thoughts of turning the lock were pushed clear out of his mind by the rather more inviting thought of a warm shower.  
  
When Dominic came in, it took both of them several moments before either realized the other was there.  
  
"Er," said Dom. Billy could hear the unmistakable clatter of a paste-loaded toothbrush onto the tiled floor. "Sorry. I'll just -"  
  
He laughed, awkwardly.  
  
"'s alright, mate," Billy said around a yawn. "Can't see through the curtain, and anyway, it's not like you haven't seen my arse before."  
  
Dom laughed again, just as awkwardly.  
  
"Right," he said, and then mumbled something which sounded like it ended in "your arse," but it was early in the morning and Billy couldn't be sure.  
  
Before he could stop yawning long enough to ask, there was a rush of cold air and then the snick of the closing door, and then Dominic was gone.  
  
::  
  
The second time was slightly less accidental, and when Dominic came in again, Billy was slightly less than surprised.  
  
"Got to lock that door," Dom said, but then several seconds passed, and he made no move to leave.  
  
"No big deal," Billy told him, and then drew back the curtain a few inches, blinking water from his eyes. "Dom?" he asked, gesturing towards the counter. "Hand me that -"  
  
Dominic turned, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Billy watched as his eyes widened slightly, watched as they trailed up and down in a way that was clearly designed so as to make Billy think that Dominic  _wasn't_ actually looking him over.  
  
It didn't work.  
  
"- shampoo," Billy finished, and grinned as Dominic dropped it twice before handing it to him.  
  
::  
  
The third time could not have been counted accidental by any definition of the word.  
  
And Billy had to admit that perhaps wanking in the shower knowing full well Dominic would be bursting in at any minute was possibly something he could've avoided if he'd wanted to.  
  
Nonetheless, it was rather gratifying to hear Dom say "Bill -" and then  _stop_ , abruptly, and then just  _stand there_.  
  
And it was quite gratifying to hear Dom  _squeak_  when Billy let out a low moan, the sound reverberating off the shower tiles, as he twisted and stroked and pulled.  
  
And hearing the thud of something that might have been Dominic's head against the bathroom door when Billy groaned out "Dom" as he came was perhaps the most gratifying thing of all.  
  
::  
  
The fourth time - this time - Dominic fucks him against the wall, water beating down on both of them mercilessly, the slick slide of wet skin on skin audible, and Billy is almost worried that they'll be caught except he isn't, really.  
  
"You had this  _planned_ ," Dominic growls in his ear, reaching one hand around and taking hold of Billy's cock. "Smug bastard, you had this all -"  
  
"Not," Billy says, and laughs a little breathlessly, and then shudders, "entirely."  
  
But Dominic is not convinced, and the more Billy thinks about it, neither is he.


	13. Maybe [OB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orlando might regret this later.

Orlando might regret this later.  
  
He might roll over in bed tomorrow afternoon, sweat-sticky and tangled in blankets, and not remember why there's someone else in bed with him - maybe he won't even remember  _who_  it is. Maybe for a little while he won't care, because he won't think anything of it. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.  
  
He might stretch then, there in bed, and he might feel soreness pulling at all of his muscles, and then tonight might all come rushing back at him. Maybe he'll prop himself up on one elbow and lean over the other body in the bed and study his face and feel that sick twinge of sudden hungover remembrance. Maybe he'll stop breathing for a moment. Maybe he'll stop breathing for two.  
  
Maybe he'll scramble out of bed and panic a little, watching Dom sleep as peaceful and easy as Dom always does. Maybe he'll pour himself some whiskey out of the bottle on the nightstand, pour it into a little white plastic cup, and slam it down his throat without even tasting it. Maybe he'll pour himself another and do it all over again.  
  
Maybe he'll be gone when Dom wakes up. Maybe by the time Dom finally decides to open his eyes - which might be hours from the time Orlando awakens - the hotel room will be deserted, not even a hastily-scrawled note to tell Dom where Orlando's gone to.  
  
Maybe this'll wreck their friendship forever, and when they all get together days or months or years from now Dom will remember the way Orlando left and he won't even look at him. Won't acknowledge him any more than a nod hello and the occasional pleasantries when they're forced.  
  
Maybe -  
  
Dom kisses Orlando, harsh and hard and impatient. "Bloody well stop thinking, would you?" he mutters, one hand tugging at Orlando's zipper, the other scrambling for the key in Orlando's back pocket.  
  
There is a click, and then the handle turns.  
  
Orlando might regret this later, but he'll take that chance.


	14. Deluge [VM/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rain starts at two-thirty on the dot and by three-ten Elijah can see the impatience sparking off Viggo's fingers.

The rain starts at two-thirty on the dot and by three-ten Elijah can see the impatience sparking off Viggo's fingers, sparking and then fizzling out when it hits the windowpanes.  
  
"Bloody artists," Elijah mumbles, rues the thought of getting wet, watches the cars splash up water on the streets seven stories below. He thinks the rain is probably freezing and then thinks no, not technically, because then it would be snow, so almost-freezing then, which is just as bad.  
  
He stands anyway, and moves toward the door.  
  
"You're not British," Viggo says with a lazy half-smile, and Elijah feels like hitting him. "Didn't you ever play in the rain when you were a kid?"  
  
"I was never a kid," Elijah responds, hand on the doorknob, and doesn't even stop to think about the truth of it. He taps his feet with the rythym of the water falling and thinks about the sun that's probably shining in Los Angeles.  
  
"Now's your chance," Viggo says, and when he moves his palm away Elijah can see the fogged-glass outline of his skin painted on the window, and he thinks maybe he doesn't miss the sun so much.  
  
"Let's go," Elijah whispers, and smiles when Viggo rises.


	15. Alone Together [SB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's less convincing than it could be.

Dom licks the vodka from Sean's lips like a dehydrated kitten might lap up water, fast and furious and intent, and when Sean's lips are dry Dom licks his own reflexively.  
  
"What're you doing, eh?" Sean asks, fingers drumming rhythmless on the tabletop, half-impatient, half to keep his fingers away from the waistband of Dominic's low-ride jeans. They're in the back of some dark over-crowded pub in the heart of Wellington and whether it's that no one recognizes them or if it's just that no one gives a fuck, they've been left alone all night, getting increasingly more drunk, Dom sliding increasingly closer on the cracked plastic of the booth before climbing entirely into Sean's lap, a position which suits Sean just fine. From the feel of it, Dom doesn't seem to mind too much either.  
  
"Could stop," Dom mumbles, breath whiskey-vodka warm against Sean's cheek, and Sean thinks  _no you couldn't_  but doesn't tempt fate by actually voicing it.  
  
Sean gives up the beat he hasn't been keeping and lets his hands drift under Dom's shirt, clutching bare skin nearly hard enough to bruise and waiting for a reaction. "You didn't answer me," he says, and Dom pushes Sean's shoulders against the back of the booth with a growl that sounds only a little angry.  
  
"Does it matter?" Dom asks, and Sean can see something in his eyes that looks very much like loss, even through the drunk-shiny sheen that lights them up. "Want you," Dom says, and it's less convinicing than it could be.  
  
"Come on," Sean says, and Dom nods a little, climbs off him and heads toward the door. Sean throws a twenty on the table and then, almost as an afterthought, downs the last of the vodka, and it burns as it trickles down his throat.  
  
He wonders who he's replacing; licks the heavy taste from his lips, half-vodka half-Dom, and wonders if Dom's wondering the same thing.


	16. Moment [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Couldn't wait until we landed? We're gonna miss the plane."

The tiles in the airport bathroom are quite possibly the coldest thing Dom has ever felt, but he has a sneaking suspicion that the shivers that are making him twitch and shake have more to do with Billy's lips than the temperature of linoleum.  
  
"Fuck, Billy," he hisses, letting air whistle out between his teeth. "Couldn't wait until we landed? We're gonna miss the plane."  
  
"Three hours in the air," Billy says, and Dominic immediately misses the warmth of the man's mouth around his cock, "and you with those fuck-me eyes? Couldn't help but oblige."  
  
Dom's heart swells suddenly with something that's too ridiculous to name, and Billy just smiles at whatever stupid expression is crossing Dom's face and there's a silly sort of tenderness in his eyes that doesn't match what's going on, doesn't match that he's down on his knees, wrinkles forming in his once-immaculate black suit, doesn't match his mouth breathing hot air onto Dom's cock.  
  
"Fuckin' idiot," Dom whispers, and threads his fingers into Billy's thinning hair, and he's pretty sure Billy knows what he means. He hears, vague and far-off, their flight being called, but ignores it.  
  
At the moment, he has absolutely nowhere to go.


	17. Twenty Three [DM/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more year isn't such a bad thing.

"Good morning, birthday boy," Dominic sing-songs, bursting into the room with an air that makes Elijah think of fanfare, of trumpets and banners waving.

"Morning being the operative word," Elijah mumbles, turning over and burying his face deep in the pillow, inhaling cigarette smoke and the faint scent of sex that seems to linger wherever Dom lays his hands.

" _Birthday_  being the operative word," Dom corrects, jumping on the bed and covering Elijah completely, knocking the wind out of him, making him huff and puff and groan.

"You'd better have cake," Elijah says, turning his head so he can breathe, and trying to free a hand with which to smack Dominic soundly. He fails, and settles on struggling weakly, bonelessly. "I don't want a birthday today. Come back tomorrow."

Dom licks a trail from the base of Elijah's neck to the curve of his ear, and Elijah suddenly, inexplicably, doesn't feel like struggling anymore.

"Cake?" Dom whispers, breath hot and warm against Elijah's cheek. "Because I can do that, if you want. I could get up and make you a cake, if you  _really_..."

"Dominic," Elijah mutters, cutting him off, and his voice sounds old and world-weary at only twenty-three, "we both know that isn't going to work, because between you and cake, I'd take cake any day." He laughs bright and warm at Dom's growl, the low rumbling that builds from his chest, and Elijah can feel the noise shuddering through his back and into his ribs like something tangible.

"Happy birthday, Doodle," Dominic says, and presses his lips to the plane of Elijah's forehead, and Elijah smiles golden and soft against the dirty pillowcase and thinks maybe growing older isn't that bad, in the end.  


 


	18. Shift [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dominic has always held his breath when going past cemeteries.

Dominic has always held his breath when going past cemeteries.  
  
When he was younger, it was due to superstition - fear that the spirits weaving their way in and out of the gravestones (and they were there, he would insist stubbornly, scowling at the laughter; they were there even if no one could see them) would enter as he inhaled and take control of him.  
  
His mother would frown and tell him it was a lot of nonsense, especially when the cemetery was large and his face would turn a faint shade of blue, but he would just shake his head and try to concentrate on something other than the burning sensation in his chest.  
  
As he grew older, it became more like a game - a battle of wills and of endurance to see whether he or the cemetery would be victorious. He always felt a slight sense of triumph, of accomplishment, when his lungs would hold out past the brick walls or the cold chain-link fences.  
  
::  
  
There is something about the way the fading sunlight falls through Billy's hair that makes Dominic suddenly, horribly ashamed of himself. The knees of Billy's jeans are stained with grass and graveyard dirt, and Dominic feels a burn in his chest when he looks at the names on the tombstones and the lines etched in Billy's face that has nothing to do with lack of breath.  
  
So strong, he wants to tell Billy, you're so strong and I'm so, I'm such, I fucking  _mocked_  -  
  
But it isn't the time, not the time and certainly not the place, and he can whisper apologies later, can plead for forgiveness against the warmth of Billy's skin after they've driven back through the wrought-iron gates and away from the remains of Billy's childhood.  
  
Instead he exhales slowly, one hand dropping down to fit against the curve of Billy's shoulder.


	19. Satisfied [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom can handle the way it is.

"Billy," Dom says, and shifts on the edge of Billy's bed, one hand tracing aimless patterns on the sheets, looking at the wall, out the window, anywhere  _but_  at the bed itself.

"Fuck are you doing here," Billy says, voice deep, rough with sleep. Dom hears the rustling of sheets and has to will himself to not look.

"Gotta tell you something," Dom says in a rush, then clenches his other hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm, because this is supposed to be easier, was, in fact, incredibly easy when he was playing it out in his head pacing back and forth in front of Billy's room.

"It's three in the  _morning_ , Dominic," Billy mutters in response.

"But," Dom says, a little desperately, "but -"

"Three. In. The morning," Billy replies.

"If you'd just  _listen_  to me, Billy," Dom says earnestly, and then pauses because his gaze unwittingly shifts sideways, Billy filling his line of sight, Billy who looks soft and warm and comforting all tangled in blankets and moonlight, and Dom can feel his throat go tight.

Billy raises his head halfway off the pillow and regards Dom with tired, muted eyes. "C'mere," he mumbles, and tugs at Dom's sleeve. His fingers curl lightly, gently distorting the fabric of Dom's shirt. "Whatever it is, it can wait until morning."

Dom considers circumstances for a moment, weighs options, then slips under the covers and presses the side of his face to Billy's chest. Inhales, and smells faded cologne and fabric softener. "Yeah," he says, and smiles, and listens to their breathing.  


 


	20. Balance [DM/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elijah loses his.

It doesn't make sense.

It doesn't make sense, because there are pieces, small but infinitely important, that just don't match up, even if he can't wrap his mind around them, can't figure out, not at the moment, anyway, what they are.

"You. And me?" he asks tentatively, quietly, even though he's run the information over in his head several times already, has sort of got images dancing through his head, if he's being honest, even if they're images that are blurry and sort of vague. Outlines, maybe, sketched in pencil.

Dominic takes a drag on his cigarette and blows smoke into the freezing city air, watching it drift up and away before responding. "You got it," he says, and doesn't meet Elijah's eyes.

A taxi rushes past and throws Elijah off, sends him teetering even though he's not that close the curb, and all of a sudden he's hurtling backwards in what feels like slow motion. His fingers scrabble for a hold, for something solid, and they clamp onto the sleeve of Dominic's jacket and then curl tightly onto Dominic's arm.

"What do you say?" Dominic says, and looks at him with eyes like the city itself, and even though Dominic is steady, unmoving beneath his hand, Elijah can't shake the feeling that he's still falling.  


 


	21. Reacquaint [Keira Knightley/Andy Serkis]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keira finally gets what she wants. (The two were in an Oliver Twist miniseries together in 1999.)

"A party!" Orlando had said excitedly a few days before, "a housewarming kind of thing with everyone I've worked with," and looking around Keira thinks that might be true because it's absolutely packed, wall-to-wall with people and noise.  
  
Keira scans the room and her eyes widen almost comically when she catches sight of Andy across the room, standing halfway hidden in the shadow of a giant bookcase that she's sure Orli paid a fortune for. She laughs when she gets over the shock, and setting her drink down on a nearby table she weaves her way in and out of the crowd, eyes glittering, hips swinging in time to the music that blasts loud enough to make her shudder, to make her pound.  
  
She waits impatiently until Andy's finished talking, waits until the group surrounding him has dispersed a little, and then she grabs his hand and pulls him into the nearest room, his fingers closing blindly around her wrist as they stumble along.  
  
"Hi," she says as she shuts the door, and then she waits a second for recognition to flash in his eyes before leaning her head in and kissing him soundly, rough stubble scraping over her skin just like she'd imagined it would when she was fourteen.  
  
"Wanted to do that for a long time," she whispers when they break apart, her fingers still clasped loosely around his.  
  
"Keira," he mutters, and blinks, and looks at her with something akin to wonder, and something that's almost certainly surprise.  
  
"Nice to see you again, Andy," she says with a dazzling grin, and the door snicks open and then closes before he even has a chance to recapture his breath.


	22. Ardor [DM/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah's hard to resist.

"Wanna fuck me, Dom?" Elijah asks, and grins, and lets one foot (devoid of sock or shoe but adorned in several toe rings that look suspiciously like some of Dom's) land firmly on Dominic's thigh, just above the knee.  
  
Dominic slides the tip of the pen out of his mouth and looks up with lines on his forehead. "Got ice cream on your lips, Doodle," he responds, then looks down again and crosses something out on his paper with unnecessary vigor.  
  
Elijah flicks the tip of his tongue out and tastes faded peppermint, then wriggles his toes in Dom's lap and watches pink steal over his cheeks.  
  
::  
  
"Fuck me, Dominic," Elijah says without a trace of a joke in his voice, staring up at the sky with practiced carelessness. He shoves his hands in his pockets then takes them out just as quickly, opting instead to take a running jump onto Dom's back, making him stumble forward with a muttered curse.  
  
" _Monkey_ ," he admonishes when he regains his balance, and Elijah slides off of him with a flutter of eyelashes.  
  
Billy looks at Elijah sideways with a funny little smirk before continuing his conversation with Dom, and Elijah tugs on Dominic's back pocket and listens to the stutter that appears in his voice.  
  
::  
  
"Dominic Ricardo Monaghan, when are you going to fuck me?" Elijah yells across the room, making several extras stop what they're doing and stare pointedly.  
  
"Middle name's not Ricardo, Lij," Dominic answers, voice like tepid water, and Elijah worries for a minute and the self-assured curve of his spine slides forward just a little, shoulders hunching, bowing in a bit.  
  
Then they start the scene and Dom flubs up his lines three times in a row, much to Peter's chagrin, and Elijah can't find it in him to summon up Frodo's requisite angst.  
  
::  
  
"Dom," Elijah says, but that's as far as he gets because Dominic pushes him hard against the counter in the makeup trailer, the corner digging into his hip, making him wince.  
  
"You're fucking annoying when you're set on something, know that, you cunt?" Dom says, the corners of his mouth twisted up, the points of his teeth showing. He leans in, body flush against Elijah's, and licks the tip of his nose.  
  
"I'm very irresistible," Elijah breathes.  
  
"You're something," Dominic replies, and backs away, heading for the door. He turns when he reaches it, fingertips on the handle. "Quite a bit, okay, and around eight thirty tonight, if that's okay with you." He grins. "To answer your questions."  
  
The handle turns under the pressure of his fingers and he steps outside, leaving Elijah alone with his laughter, which takes a turn toward high-pitched and more than a little giddy when he looks at his watch and sees both hands pointing at six.


	23. Proximity [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funniest thing is the sunrise.

"It's the funniest thing," Dom says, and his voice sounds heavy with sleep. Billy stares at the phone in mild wonder and tries to remember when he picked it up, tries to remember if it had rung at all. Tries to remember when he's started sleeping this fucking late. He squints at the clock and calculates the time difference and something like worry gnaws at his stomach when he realizes it's just about four in the morning in California.  
  
"Dom?" he tries, tentatively, cautiously. His mouth feels dry and he sips at the lukewarm water on the side of his bed automatically, giving a fleeting thought to the fact that it's been there for three days and probably has all manner of dust particles and god knows what else floating in it. He shakes his head, and takes another sip.  
  
There's no response for a moment and Billy wonders if maybe Dom's fallen asleep on him, just like so many nights in New Zealand, except in New Zealand Dom was  _there_ , if not right there physically than just a ten minute drive away; Dom was there, and the tiny growing pain in his stomach was not, and he wonders if that has to do all with worry.  
  
"The funniest thing," Dominic replies just as Billy's almost made up his mind to hang up and ring Dom's mobile, because Dom's always got that near and it'd wake him up, "is the sunrise."  
  
"The." Billy blinks, still unsteady, unsure of where this is going, unsure of why Dom's calling him when Elijah's probably in the next room over, asleep, yes, but there. "The sunrise?"  
  
"Because I used to see the sunrise every day, right?" Dom says, and continues without an answer. "Every day, and it was always. It was, I mean, Bill, man. It was fuckin' amazing, fuckin'  _gorgeous_ , yeah?" There is awe in his voice, tinged with exhaustion, awe and a trace of a smile, and so Billy relaxes, just a little.  
  
"Incredible, yeah," Billy responds, and takes another sip of water, grimacing at the stale taste.  
  
"Even though we were always knackered. God, we were so -" there is silence, punctured by the sound of a sigh, and then Dom begins again, as though there were no interruption. "So tired, man, all the time. But -" he sobers suddenly, and his voice takes on a cracked edge to it, and the pain in Billy's stomach expands again, "I'm tired here, too, I'm fucking tired all the damn time, and I've watched the sunrise, Billy, I've -"  
  
When Dominic exhales it's long and slow and shuddery, and Billy can hear the sobs that want to break free. "It's not the same," Billy murmurs, and nods even though he knows Dom can't see him. The pain in his stomach moves to somewhere around his heart, and suddenly missing Dominic washes over him so strongly that he feels like he wants to cry too, makes him feel the way he usually does only at night when he can't sleep and memories hover too close to the surface.  
  
"It's not the same," Dom whispers, "and it's not because of the smog or the fact that I can see the fucking Hollywood sign out my bedroom window, it's because I'm not. watching it. with you."  
  
"Dom," Billy says, whispers it, the word catching behind his teeth for a moment, and when he opens his eyes (when had he closed them? he doesn't remember, supposes it doesn't matter), he stares across the white-sheeted expanse of his bed and decides it's been too big for too long. "Come to Scotland, Dom," he says, and takes a breath, "watch the sunrise with me every day."  
  
"Every day?" asks Dominic, and all the pain in every part of Billy's body dissipates because there's a smile in Dom's voice again, faint but present.  
  
"If we can manage it," Billy says with a grin that threatens to break his face, and waits until there's soft contented snoring on the other line before he hangs up.


	24. Denial [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom doesn't wonder.

He'd like to say he doesn't wonder. Would like to say that it's never kept him up for hours, the idea of _maybe_  and the images - always a little blurred at the edges like old film because if he focuses too clearly it'll become too real - that flickerflash behind his eyelids when he tosses and turns in his overlarge bed.

He'd like to say that - on the nights that they're both too drunk (or lazy, or cold; or lonely, sometimes, though neither would admit it) to sort out whose limbs belong to whom - the notion of edging forward that infinitesimal bit of space between them and letting his lips linger for just a moment (or two) on Billy's has never crossed his mind.

He'd like to say that he's honestly never thought about the way Billy must look when he's flushed and wanting and ready, the way every pretense must fall, must crumble around him and leave him open and bare and vulnerable and even more  _fucking_  beautiful than Dom already thinks he is. He'd like to say that he's never come with that picture in his mind, would like to say that he's never let Billy's name spill from his lips with one hand around his cock and the other twisted in the bedsheets.

Really, more than wanting to be able to say it - because of course he can  _say_  it, no problem, easy-peasy, just like that, what good is being an actor if he couldn't? - more than that, he'd like to be able to say it and for it to be true.

"No, Elijah," Dom says, hopes he didn't take too long to answer, shakes his head and smiles a little, "I've never wondered about me and Billy."

When he turns away, he turns away too soon and doesn't catch the light that fades from Billy's eyes.  


 


	25. Dissimilitude [BB/DM, AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a "one-sentence fic" challenge.

"Listen to me, William," the boy says, and his voice is rough - rough like his hands which press William tightly to the wall; rough like the bricks which bite into William's back through the fabric of his shirt; rough like his lips which make indelible marks on William's skin, even though only he and the boy are able to see them, "listen to me, I will find you again," and when he lets go and turns away, when his outline becomes blurred with fog and night, William wonders why even now that feels more like a promise than a threat.


	26. Virtuous [DM/VM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the lack of being.

"Jesus  _fuck_ ," Dom mutters, hands scrabbling for purchase in the empty air. He blinks, peers out the window, then looks back at Viggo, pleading with his eyes. "Fucking, fucking... fuck."  
  
"Yeah?" says Viggo, teasing half-smile making his eyes light up. He lets his hand wander, briefly, down Dom's chest, down to the waistband of his jeans, and then lower, lower, and he laughs a little when Dom lets out a low groan and glares at him.  
  
"Yes," growls Dom, and grabs Viggo's wrist. "Don't have all day."  
  
"Patience, Dominic," Viggo chides, "is a virtue," but he tugs down Dom's zipper even as he says it, eyes flicking to the front of the taxi.  
  
"Virtues," Dom says, and grins. " _Right_." The grin slides slow and steady into a screwed-up concentrated gaze of lust and bliss, and Viggo has to bite his lip to keep from moaning.  
  
When they exit the cab, ten minutes later, Viggo shoves too much money at the driver and tells him to keep it, shooing Dom's hand away from his ass with held-back laughter heavy in his voice.  
  
"I was always more of a fan of the seven deadly sins, myself," Dom mutters from behind Viggo as the taxi drives away in a cloud of exhaust, his voice suddenly low, suddenly deep and husky. "Much more fun."  
  
"Now that you mention it," says Viggo, brushing hair out of his eyes and turning, tugging Dom closer, "so was I."


	27. Inadequate Substitute [DM/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His cigarettes aren't him.

The first drag makes Dom cough, makes his lungs contract and his eyes water. He glares at the glowing red-orange tip before stubbornly wrapping his lips around the white paper cylinder again, taking care not to inhale so hard. This time there is only a slight tickle in the back of his throat, somewhere behind his Adam's apple.  
  
 _He'd found the quarter-full pack yesterday, in the middle of a pile of clothes shoved underneath the bed, a pile of clothes that consisted mainly of too-small faded tee-shirts and jeans ripped at the knees and at the hems. For a moment, for what had felt like an hour, he had simply stood and stared, watching the morning sunlight spill onto the heap of fabric._  
  
A spotlight, he'd thought, a little fuzzily, and wondered if he'd written down Elijah's new phone number anywhere.  
  
After a few more puffs he's sort of got the hang of it - inhale, exhale, just like breathing but with smoke instead of air. By the time the cigarette is half-gone even the tickle has subsided, and Dom feels a little angry, feels a bit cheated. This should be harder, he's sure, should be much more difficult, an ordeal. Something he's always been dead set against shouldn't be so easy to do.  
  
As he stubs it out in the cracked crystal ashtray next to him he realizes belatedly that there's a harsh tang in the smoke that was never there when he tasted it secondhand, a bitterness that must have been dulled by lips and tongue and teeth.  
  
Maybe, he thinks as he flicks the lighter, watching the flame dance, the metal growing warm under his thumb - maybe not so easy after all.


	28. Conflict Resolution [Sean Astin/Andy Serkis]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During one take, Andy accidentally ripped Sean's wig off.

"Get angry at  _me_ , Sean," Andy growls, a growl completely devoid of any trace of Gollum, a growl that is one hundred percent Andy. "Fucking go off and sulk, will you."  
  
Sean looks at him, disbelief etched onto his face, and tugs Andy's hair back, newly washed strands slippery in his fingers. He steps closer, puts one hand on Andy's chest (the muscles beneath the tight t-shirt flex, twitch unconsciously), and yanks again, harder this time. "Hurts, doesn't it." He leans his face in, right up close, and tightens his grip. " _Doesn't it._ "  
  
Andy cocks his head to one side, a smile curving its way onto his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He reaches out a hand and pulls Sean even closer, so they're flush against each other, chest to chest, and then he leans in and takes Sean's bottom lip (pushed out in a mixture of indignance and lingering pain) between his teeth, nibbling gently,  _gently_.  
  
"Sorry," he whispers against Sean's mouth, feeling the hold on his hair loosen slightly, " 'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He pulls away and looks at Sean, all seriousness and nervous sincerity. "Really."  
  
The corners of Sean's eyes crinkle up into little lines. "It's okay. Didn't hurt that much anyhow." He laughs a little at the expression on Andy's face and pulls at his hair again, pulls him back, pulls him closer again.  
  
"C'mere," he says, and Andy does.


	29. Contrast [BB/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a boy.

There is a boy.

No.

There are two boys.

Well, maybe.

There are two  _people_ , and one is boy and one could be a boy except for his hairline.

Yeah.

But the boy - the real boy - says doesn't care about that.

The other one, the boy-but-not, he cares, just like he cares about the lines that frame his mouth like parentheses when he smiles.

And he tells the boy this, and he asks the boy why he's there, why he's always there.

The boy, well, he just smiles, grin stretching his baby-smooth skin, and shows the empty space between his teeth, like the tiniest black hole in all of the universe, the space that sucks the boy-but-not in and doesn't let him out until he's gasping for breath, and then the boy he runs his tongue over the lines that appear on the boy-but-not's face.

See? says the boy.

And the boy-but-not, he thinks that maybe the boy's too old to be a boy, even if he doesn't look it.

And when they fuck, they're ageless.


	30. Fracture [BB/DM, DM/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not that easy.

The first thing that enters his mind when Dom emerges from his tangled nest of blankets and sheets is, _thirsty_.  
  
The second is,  _what the hell time is it?_  
  
He glances toward his bedside table, remembering a moment too late that the clock that used to sit there, the clock with its giant red numbers and huge buttons, is sitting, splintered, at the bottom of the garbage can.  
  
Where it's been for two weeks - no, no, two weeks and a day now.  
  
::  
  
 _"I'm leaving tomorrow," Elijah says abruptly, mouth a fraction of a fraction away from Dom's skin, close enough for the words to vibrate, sound-waves shattering their way across his body.  
  
Dom goes numb, hand stopping in mid-stroke._  
  
::  
  
The half-full glass in his hand does a tricky, unexpected little dance step between the damp pads of his fingers and falls to the floor. Tepid water drenches his socks, soaking through them and making his toes curl reflexively. He looks down, blinking as the harsh kitchen light bounces off the shards of glass littering the tile around him.  
  
"Um," he says in the general direction of the sink. "M'feet."  
  
The sink stares stoically back at him, offering a  _plink, plink_  of water in consolation.  
  
::  
  
 _"It's just. I don't." Elijah looks up at him, eyes full of things that might have been. "It isn't me any more, is it."  
  
The fact that it isn't a question doesn't make it any easier for Dom to answer._  
  
::  
  
Billy shuffles through the hallway, dragging his feet on the carpet. "What'd you do?" he asks, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes. His voice is rough, scratchy, deepened with sleep. It reminds Dominic of New Zealand.  
  
"I." Dom shrugs. "Bloody thing jumped out of my hand."  
  
Billy's hair has grown so long that it covers his ears, brushing against the edge of his jaw, framing his face. In the amber light of the hallway, it looks almost golden.  
  
::  
  
 _"I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight," Elijah says, and rolls off Dominic. "Tomorrow, I'll. Um. I have my bags packed and everything. I'll stay with Sean, or." He takes a breath, runs a hand through sweat-slicked hair. Seconds, minutes, hours tick by as Elijah stands there, motionless, telling countless truths with his silence. The pause stretches, wrapping itself around the room and squeezing it, making the air heavier, making it harder to breathe.  
  
The clock hits the door a second, maybe two, after Elijah closes it, but the bang-crash-crack of plastic gives Dom no comfort._  
  
::  
  
" - this up, yeah?" says Billy, sending Dom reeling back into this, here, now.  
  
"Wh-" Dominic coughs, swallows, tries again. "Sorry. What?"  
  
Billy smiles, small and sincere. "We should clean this up, yeah?"  
  
"Oh. Yeah."  
  
Billy retrieves the broom and dustpan from the closet and makes makes quick work of the glass, muscles playing across his back as he kneels. Dom's hand clenches and unclenches on the handle of the refrigerator. Under his touch, it grows warm. Clammy.  
  
::  
  
 _When Dominic wakes up, Elijah is gone, the shattered remains of the clock and a note on the table the only evidence that anything had ever taken place the night before._  
  
::  
  
  
"That'll do it," Billy says, tipping the dustpan into the garbage. He wipes his hands on his sweatpants, staining them a darker grey.  
  
"Thanks," Dom says, but it comes out "I love you."  
  
Billy falters, over-balancing. His palm slips on the eggshell-shiny paint of the wall, and it's a moment before he gets a firm grip. "What?"  
  
"I love you," repeats Dom. His breath catches in his throat and stays there, his heart pounding, thudding against his chest. "I love you," he continues, "and Lij, he knew that, and I -" he breaks off at the expression on Billy's face.  
  
"It's not," whispers Billy, "that easy."  
  
His eyes are dark, filled with something Dom doesn't recognize.  
  
"But I -" Dom chokes, clutching the sink for purchase.  
  
"You really have no idea, do you." Billy spits out the words as though they might burn him if he keeps them inside any longer.  
  
The fact that it isn't a question doesn't make it any easier for Dom to answer.  
  
"Just." Billy sighs, the sound reverberating against the walls and the tile. "Go to sleep, Dom."  
  
He turns away, and Dominic shatters.


	31. Slide [DM/EW]

_I love you_ , Dom had said.  
  
 _I love you_ , he had said, and Elijah had looked at him, looked at him with a mouth that said  _not now_  and eyes that said  _never_ , and then turned away to smile and sign his name for girls who said the same thing, girls who had no idea, girls who girls who  _girls_.  
  
 _I love you_ , Dom had said, and now he can feel himself slipping sideways, out of the frame that he was never in to begin with.


	32. At the Gate [BB/DM]

Peter yells 'cut' for the fourth or maybe the fifth time. In the kindest of tones, he tells Billy that he's missed his cue,  _again_ , and does he think he'll be able to figure out some way to focus in five minutes?  
  
Billy nods miserably, and Peter yells 'take five'.  
  
Billy's breath makes clouds in the air, little billowy half-transparent puffs of white that vanish almost as soon as they appear.  
  
"It's not supposed to be this cold in Hobbiton," he says, only it sounds more like 'it's not subbosed to be dis cold in Hobbiton.' "Tolkien  _said_  so," he adds petulantly, and sniffles.  
  
"Technically, Bill," says Dom, rubbing his arms to no avail, "we're not in Hobbiton, we're in Mor -" he breaks off at Billy's glare. "Hey. C'mere, you."  
  
Billy shuffles along the gound, hobbit feet making scritch-scratch noises against the gravel. "It's just," he sighs, moistening the front of Dom's shirt with water vapor, "it's just I'm so tired. And I'm so cold. And -"  
  
Dom tugs Billy closer, envelops him completely, riotous Pippin-curls tickling his nose. "When we wrap, I'll make sure to warm you up."  
  
"Promise?" says Billy, looking the very embodiment of Pippin, open, sweet and vulnerable. In the half-light of the carpark, his eyes look almost blue, and Dom can see himself - no, can see  _Merry_  - reflected in them.  
  
"Promise," says Dom, mirror-Merry smiling back at him from Billy's eyes, matching the grin that's on Billy's face (which is just as Pippin-like as anything else), at the same time Peter yells 'okay, let's try this again!'  
  
Billy nails it in one take.


	33. Quickie [BB/DM]

Dominic takes the first chance he sees. Billy can see him maneuvering his way through the crowd. When Dom reaches him, he flashes an offhand smile to the girls surrounding him and grabs Billy's hand.  
  
"Bathroom," he whispers harshly. Billy nods, shivers almost imperceptibly. There is the tiniest quaver in his voice as he tells the girls it's been nice talking to them and he hopes they're enjoying themselves but he really has to -  
  
and then Dom drags him away, before he has a chance to finish his sentence, but if he's being completely, totally honest, Billy really doesn't mind.  
  
::  
  
"Fucking stupid," murmurs Billy against Dominic's lips. "We could get caught, we -"  
  
Dom kneels, tugs Billy's shirt out of his pants and his pants to his knees. The fluorescent light makes his skin look yellow, makes his eyes glow, fucking  _glow_. "You were saying?" he says, and runs his tongue along the underside of Billy's aching cock. Billy's head slams back into the stall's door. It doesn't budge.  
  
" _Nothing_ ," he hisses, and winds his hands in Dominic's hair.  
  
" 'S what I thought," Dom answers, grinning.  
  
Then the grin disappears and it's all Billy can to to keep back a scream.  
  
::  
  
A camera flash, bright white, blinds Billy for a moment, and when his vision clears, he finds Elijah in front of him, a wicked smirk on his face.  
  
"What is so fucking funny?" Billy asks, his words slurring only slightly.  
  
"You," Elijah says, a chuckle escaping. "I like it, but it's, uh, sort of obvious, yeah?"  
  
Billy looks down and sees half of his shirt is hanging out of his trousers, the fabric wrinkled and bunched. He tugs on the hem, blushes faintly, and bursts into laugher. "Shit."  
  
Elijah giggles. "You two, I swear to god..."  
  
Billy only laughs harder.  
  
::  
  
 _Later, in the cab on the way to the hotel, Dominic describes the look on his face as 'well-fucked'. Or possibly 'crazy'. Or maybe both. Running a hand over Billy's hip, peeking out between his trousers and his shirt, he says that Billy should wear his shirts like that all the time._  
  
Billy can't help but agree.


	34. Scientific [DM/EW]

_Opposite forces_ , Elijah thinks. Somehow, through they had been on either end of the couch when he put on the movie, they're now sitting so close to one another that their thighs are pressed together, denim against denim.  _Or maybe gravitational pull_.  
  
::  
  
Dominic's hand is roving over the back of Elijah's, one fingernail tracing a vein lightly, almost absently.  
  
"Transparent," he murmurs out of nowhere, and Elijah jolts, fingers twitching. Inexplicably, his breath catches in his throat and he coughs - once, twice. He looks over, eyes wide, but Dominic is staring downwards. The dim, flickering light from the television throws his face into sharp relief, his downcast eyelashes ashy smudges on his cheeks.  
  
"Your hands," he says, answering the question that Elijah's sure he didn't ask. "You're so pale."  
  
"Oh," Elijah answers, exhaling slowly. "Yeah." He pauses for a moment. "It's. Uh." It's what?  _What's_  what? "Yeah."  
  
"Yeah," Dominic says, and nods.  
  
As they lapse back into silence, Elijah becomes acutely aware that his hand is tingling. A row of tiny pinpricks follow the path that Dominic's fingers took and make their way up his arm slowly, gradually, though Dominic's fingers themselves are resting gently on his knuckles.  
  
His knuckles are burning.  
  
"It's dark," he says quietly, and even though at that precise moment there is a hail of gunfire from the television, Elijah knows Dominic has heard him because he can hear Dominic's sharp intake of breath. "It's just," he continues, half-apologetically, "you can't see my hands."  
  
Dominic looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "I see your hands all the time, Lij."  
  
"Right. I just meant -" he begins.  
  
"And anyway," Dominic cuts him off, "your hands aren't the only part of you that's pale." He twists his body, folds one leg under him and turns so he's facing Elijah. In one move, he laces their fingers together and brings his other hand up to Elijah's face, running his thumb slowly over Elijah's eyelids - first one, then over the bridge of his nose, and then the other. Elijah gasps, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.  
  
"Transparent," Dominic mutters, and leans his face in closer.  
  
"You already said that," Elijah says, smiling. This time, it doesn't frighten him.  
  
::  
  
 _Opposite forces_ , Elijah thinks as their lips meet, the movie all but forgotten in the background, his thumb rubbing slow circles on Dominic's hand.  _Or maybe gravitational pull._


	35. Around the World [BB/DM]

Billy has been around the world, at last count, five times. He's been to several continents, many countries, hundreds of cities. Since New Zealand, it has ceased to faze him in the least. New places, different people - for Billy, they're not a problem.  
  
Everywhere he visits, no matter how long the stay, people are always amazed at how well he seems to fit in, to settle down. Often he's been asked, "Don't you get homesick?"   
  
Whenever this happens, he sneaks a look towards Dominic (who is, invariably, close by), and smiles.  
  
Home, Billy understands, is not necessarily a physical place.


	36. Transitions [BB/DM]

On set, Billy is Pippin and Dominic is Merry. This is taken for granted; the script requires it, and no thought is necessary.  
  
.  
  
In the afternoons and evenings, Billy is Merry and Dominic is Pippin. The shift is made with the greatest of ease; all the elements are already there, out in the open, ready for viewing like goods in a window display case.  
  
.  
  
Late at night and early in the morning, Billy is Billy and Dominic is Dominic. In the sultry blackvelvet darkness; through the sweetsoft dawn breezes; moving together as one, they play the roles they know best.


	37. Tangerine [Gen]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here at the end of all things.

"I can't believe this is it."  
  
Sean is fighting - and failing - to keep his voice steady.  
  
"I know."  
  
Through his usual gruffness, Viggo sounds as though he's fighting the same battle, and Sean is almost glad.  
  
"Every time we left before, there was always 'next time'. And now the next times..."  
  
"Are over with," Viggo finishes, reaching out his hand and lacing his fingers through Sean's.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Viggo is silent for a moment. "It isn't like it's completely over, though," he murmurs. "Not really. Publicity, and everything..."  
  
Sean shrugs, eyes on the tabletop. "I guess." He pauses, then sighs. "It's just... I've spent... what, five years of my life being Sam?"  
  
"Ah." Viggo nods. "And now you don't know if you can be anything else?"  
  
Sean's eyes snap up to his. "Exactly."  
  
"Every time we leave here I feel like that." Viggo runs his free hand absently over his face. "It's just increased tenfold now."  
  
"What are we supposed to do, then? Get back together here once a year and reminisce about the 'good times' and stay stuck in the past forever?"  
  
Viggo smiles softly. "No. This, too, shall pass. It'll just take some time."  
  
Sean is less than convinced.  
  
::  
  
"Don't cry, you fucking pansy elf."  
  
Arms encircle Orlando's shoulders as Dominic's voice, soft and low, sounds in his ears.  
  
Glancing to the side, he meets grey eyes and smiles. "Hobbits. I get no respect, I swear."  
  
"Well," Dom answers, resting his head on Orlando's, "it's not like you deserve it or anything. You elves are all the same. So bloody emotional."  
  
But there is a distinct sniffling sound as he says it.  
  
"Look who's talking," Orlando says, not unkindly.  
  
Dominic chuckles. "Yeah," he replies, and lets out a shuddering sigh.  
  
Orlando stands and turns, pulling Dominic close, burying his face in golden-tipped locks.  
  
"You know," Dominic says, muffled by the thin cotton of Orlando's shirt, "when we first started, I couldn't wait for it to be over with. I mean, god, I used to  _dream_  about not having to get up at the crack of dawn to get my fucking  _feet_  put on."  
  
Orlando nods, Dom's hair tickling his eyelids.  
  
"But..." he sighs again. "It changed. Everything changed."  
  
"It's home," Orlando says simply.  
  
"Home." Dominic looks up, eyes watery. "Where is it we're going, then?"  
  
And as the tears begin to fall, Orlando finds he has no answer.  
  
::  
  
"I don't want to go," Elijah says, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.  
  
The corners of Billy's lips curve up, but that's as far as the attempt goes. "It's not like we won't be back here, Lij. The premiere, and... I mean, you know, I'm sure everyone will want to come back on holiday..."  
  
"No, I know. It's just..." and he looks at Billy, eyes unusually bright, and gestures with one hand, waving it around limply.  
  
Billy follows the path Elijah's hand traces; he surveys the room, taking in Viggo and Sean, deep in conversation, hands linked, and Dominic and Orlando, locked tightly together, both sets of shoulders shaking almost in unison.  
  
As he watches them, his mind flashes to brilliant orange-red sunsets and soft pink-gold sunrises over the mountains, both witnessed from the makeup trailer; to countless late-night conversations followed by early-morning calls; to laying in warm bright fields - or sitting in dark, bitterly cold carparks - waiting for lights to be adjusted or cameras to be fiddled with.  
  
Turning back to Elijah, Billy pulls him into his arms, sighing softly. "It won't be the same. I know."  
  
"Yeah," Elijah whispers, tightening his grip. "Yeah."


	38. A Good Cure [BB/DM]

"Ow, ow, fucking ow!" Billy says, crashing his way into the house.  
  
"What?" Dom asks, looking up from his book.  
  
"Awful headache," Billy moans. "Elijah insisted on playing Led Zeppelin at top volume in the car."  
  
"Poor love," Dominic says. Then, face brightening, he exclaims: "Oh! Know what they say is a good cure for headaches?"  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Sex."  
  
Billy shoots him a withering look. "Who's  _they_?"  
  
"You know. Experts and stuff."  
  
"You're insatiable, you know that?"  
  
Dom shrugs. "Hey, if you'd rather be in pain, fine..."  
  
Billy contemplates him for a moment before nodding. "Well, if the experts say..."


	39. Tirón [BB/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is weird af ignore it

He is trapped; a silver ball and chain keeps him tied to silence, forces it into his head until the faintest sound is enough to shatter his eardrums.  
  
He doesn't know why, doesn't understand the physics and the psychology behind it; only knows that while they are  _there_  he is  _here_  - or is it that they are here and he is there? - at any rate they are separate, apart, halves of a different whole, and that is enough to keep anyone quiet.  
  
They don't notice, he's - almost completely - sure; they never do, because after all the shackles are invisible and anyway he hides it well. Bright eyes and wide smile that say for all the world to see: "I'm fine; I'm great, really." But sometimes he wonders, sometimes he's not entirely positive that they don't, at least not all of them, because the voice that reminds him of rolling hills always seems louder than the rest.  
  
And once in a while  _there_  and  _here_  - or here and there - even collide, and the volume gets turned up and then, then it's almost real, the glowing blue and the redred lips over gaptooth grins; then silver turns to elastic and he can pull away.  
  
But it always pulls back, chiding and harsh; maternal but without any of the gentle warmth of a mother's touch.  
  
::  
  
Then there is the night that  _there_  and  _here_  - here and there - go past collision and merge together to form some place that is new, that is wholly foreign - bright and hot and  _loud_ , so loud that it hurts, but nothing breaks, nothing shatters, so he takes it and begs for more.  
  
He reaches out to touch the heavyharsh breathing that rings in his ears and blinks in confusion when he grasps cotton, soft and worn beneath his fingers.  
  
The sound of his belt being undone echoes in the empty bathroom, bounces off faded blue tiles and comes back to sear into his mind, the soft metallic  _clang_  bright like windchimes twinkling in the breeze.  
  
The  _thud_  of knees hitting the dirty ground hits him somewhere above his right eye and his head snaps back against the wall, hands coming to tangle in silksmooth hair.  
  
He looks down and sees flames, green fire hot enough to melt metal; the slow simmer of silver louder than anything he's ever heard.  
  
Billy tugs at Elijah, and for the first time, Elijah doesn't feel anything tugging back.


	40. Playtime [BB/DM/EW]

"Elijah, you're not serious," Billy said in dismay, looking up at the storefront.  
  
Next to him, Elijah bounced excitedly on his heels, hands in his back pockets; either he hadn't heard Billy or was ignoring him. Billy suspected the latter.  
  
Dominic nudged Billy with his shoulder. "C'mon, old man." He grinned, dropping his voice to a whisper: "I'll make it worth it."  
  
Billy chuckled, defeat evident in his eyes. "Fucking exhibitionist."  
  
Elijah glanced over at them. "Fuck, guys, you can't swear in front of a toy store! It's sacrilege!"  
  
Dominic opened his mouth to reply, apparently thought better of it, and closed it again, settling on raising his eyebrows in amusement.  
  
Billy sighed. "Let's go, then."  
  
::  
  
Once inside, Elijah rushed over to the electronics section, muttering something about new Playstation games.  
  
Glancing down the aisle and ascertaining that it was empty, Billy pushed Dominic against the shelves, causing several items to fall to the ground as he kissed him roughly.  
  
"Make it worth it, eh?" he murmured.  
  
"What -  _here_? I meant later, at home..." Dominic's protests died away as Billy began to grind against him, nipping lightly at his neck. "Bill, there -  _oh_  - there's cameras all over."  
  
"And you love it. You love having someone watch."  
  
"Billy, it's a  _toy store_."  
  
"Toy stores have bathrooms."  
  
"You didn't bring -"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Then -"  
  
Billy grinned. "I love your mouth, Dommie. Have I ever told you that?"  
  
"Am I getting anything out of this?"  
  
"Depends on how 'worth it' you make it."  
  
Dominic groaned. "I hate you."  
  
"You love me," Billy responded. Grabbing Dominic's hand, he tugged him in the direction of the bathrooms. "Come on."  
  
::  
  
In the car, Elijah took one look at Dominic, his hair dishevelled and eyes bright, and Billy, sweaty and flushed, and groaned loudly.  
  
"You  _didn't_."  
  
Billy blinked, looking the very picture of innocence, save for the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What're you talking about, Lij?"  
  
Elijah passed the back of his hand over his eyes wearily. "You have completely corrupted my childhood memories."  
  
Dominic sniggered. "Drama queen."  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Nah, that's Billy's job."  
  
"DOM!"  
  
" _What_?"  
  
Elijah sighed. "God, I hate you guys."  
  
"That's not what you said last night," Billy replied.  
  
"That's not the point. And - mmph!"  
  
Billy grinned, releasing Elijah's lips and climbing over the armrest to the backseat where Dominic sat.  
  
"Childhood memories are overrated," he said, patting the seat between them with a lascivious smile on his face.  
  
He took the fact that Elijah nearly fell into the back between them as a sign that he agreed.


	41. Progression [BB/DM, AU]

_Manchester, 1991_  
  
  
Girls.  
  
Girls, Dominic is completely sure, are supposed to be the ones making him feel like this.  
  
 _Girls_ , with their bright eyes and soft hair (and  _breasts_ , can't forget those); sweet-smelling and coy and - _sugar and spice and everything nice_ , comes his gran's voice unbidden from the back of his mind -  _girls_  are the ones who're supposed to make him want to retreat to his bedroom and slide his fingers down his belly until they reach the waistband of his boxers, and then... well. Yeah.  
  
 _Girls_ , not  _boys_. Boys are - are lads, are the ones you fuck around with and take the piss out of and... at any rate, they're  _boys_  and Dom knows he's not supposed to get hard, not supposed to want to touch himself because of  _boys_.  
  
Well, uh.  _Boy_ , if he wants to be totally accurate. Just the one, really.  
  
Just the one - Billy Boyd, who moved to Manchester from Glasgow only a few months ago. Billy Boyd, who has eyes like the fucking ocean in a storm, all dark green and rimmed with gold. Billy Boyd, who's a few years older than all the other boys in Dom's group of friends but who for some reason has decided to take up with them anyway.  
  
Billy Boyd, who likes to lick his lips a lot and then stare at Dom for no apparent reason. Which is actually what he's doing now, not that Dom's  _noticed_  or anything.  
  
Dom's fully aware of sex, thanks very much. He's come close on several occasions to actually having it with various girls ( _girls_ ) he's dated. (Well, he's gotten his hand up several sweaters, anyway, and - in one momentous occasion - into a pair of knickers. That was... nice. Warm. Wet. Anyway.) He's fully aware that if he twists his wrist like that while moving his hand up and down like  _this_ , then it feels pretty fucking good. He's known all that for years.  
  
But, uh. With guys? His dad's told him it's  _wrong_ , but that doesn't even figure in, because when's he listened to anything his dad's ever said anyway? No, that's not it. It's just... he has no idea what to do. He knows how to fuck girls (or at least he has a basic idea) - that's simple, that's easy. But guys, well. Just. Where the fuck would you  _put_  it; what the fuck do you  _do_?  
  
Plus, you know.  _Guys_ , for fuck's sake!  
  
Dom shifts his legs slightly, tries to ignore his throbbing cock pressed against unyielding denim, tries to ignore any thoughts like that (tries to ignore the fact that Billy's eyes are burning a fucking  _hole_  into the side of his head), and takes a gulp of the nearest drink. His mate Paul, who's sitting next to him, bursts into laughter.  
  
"Oi, that's Billy's," he says through giggles. "Poofter. 's like you just snogged him, now."  
  
Dom chokes; sets the glass down quickly (some of the flat soda sloshes over the sides, leaves a wet ring on the table); wipes his mouth furiously and hopes to god he's not blushing, because no, god no. Bloody kiss of death, that'd be.  
  
"Stupid cunt," Dom mutters, and coughs lightly.  
  
He avoids Billy's eyes for a good hour or so.  
  
::  
  
Dom's caught a bit off-guard when, several hours later, Paul and Jimmy say that they're leaving, and is Billy coming, or not? And Billy shakes his head and tells them no, go on, I'll find you later.  
  
He's caught rather  _more_  off-guard when, moments after the door's slammed, Billy slams  _him_  against the wall and smashes their bodies together. Dom can hardly keep from shuddering (melting falling to the fucking floor) when Billy's hips, slender and hard (not like Shelly, Shelly who liked to taunt him with low-cut shirts that showed tantalizing flashes of skin, Shelly who almost let Dom go all the way but backed out at the last second because she was a cock-tease, Shelly whom Dom still thinks about sometimes when he's not thinking about... other people), when Billy's hips push against his and trap his aching cock between them.  
  
"Ungh," Dom says, and then shakes his head because that wasn't at all what he meant to say. He's not, uh, sure exactly what it was he was going to say, now that he thinks about it, but he knows it wasn't that. He tries again. "You're, ah. What... the hell?"  
  
"What, you've never kissed anyone before?" Billy says, grinning wolfishly, his face mere inches from Dom's.  
  
Dom scoffs. " 'Course I fuckin' have. Just not -"  
  
"A bloke?" Billy finishes for him. Dom nods. "It's not much different, mate," Billy says, and, lowering his head, presses his lips firmly against Dom's at the same time his hand moves down between them and cups Dom through his faded jeans.  
  
"Fucking jesus," Dom half-gasps half-whispers, bucking forward. "Fucking - oh, god."  
  
The noise of a car pulling into the driveway scares the living shit out of him and he whispermoans, "Billy, my - oh - my parents, they're -"  
  
Billy unzips Dom's jeans and begins to stroke him roughly through his boxers, the cotton providing glorious, wonderful friction, and Dom thinks oh, well, that's what you do, that's simple too, then, that's easy enough.  
  
He comes, shuddering and shaking, his fist in his mouth to keep him from screaming, less than a minute later.  
  
When his parents walk through the door, he and Billy are sitting quietly at the table, easy smiles on both their faces. His mother asks Dom what they've been up to today, and Dom, tracing the ring of moisture around the glass on the table, shrugs and says eh, not much, mum.  
  
Billy kicks him hard under the table and bites his lip to keep from laughing.


	42. Aventura [BB/DM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I believe in fate," says Dom against his mouth, and Billy sees mountains of possibilities.

"It's." Dom stops, waves his hand in the air ineffectually. "It's like. Like they're all here, yeah?" He gestures to a point somewhere to his left, a point where all Billy can see is the couch, battered grey-leather and empty. "Like  _you're_  all here. And then  _I'm_  over  _there_ ," and this with a tilt of his head to, presumably, the kitchen or somewhere near there. Billy hasn't been to Dominic's apartment enough to memorize the layout just yet, but he thinks it's the kitchen. Yeah.  
  
Yeah.  
  
"What's your point?" He says, or tries to say, because his mouth tastes like cotton and his tongue feels three times too big, so it comes out a mishmosh of vowels and consonants, things which sound vaguely like words but which aren't.  
  
"My point?" Dom rolls over on his side, looks at Billy with blurry, unfocused eyes, and then groans and rolls onto his back again. " _Jesus_. What did we drink?"  
  
Billy studies the ceiling. There's cobwebs in the corner, no surprise, because Dom's a fucking slob and Billy'd bet his whole house that he hasn't even  _vacuumed_  the place yet, much less dusted. Astin would have a fit if he saw, because yeah, Astin's like that, whether he'd admit to it or not. But Astin's not here, and Billy's not much of a betting kind of man, so he doesn't say anything about the cobwebs. He blinks, eyelids moving in slow motion, lashes sweeping his cheeks and making them tingle. Damn. What  _did_  they drink?  
  
"Anyway," says Dom, and Billy slides his eyes away from the ceiling and to the side, but he can't see Dom, not really, and it makes his eyes hurt to do that anyway, so he shuts them and lets Dom's voice roll over him.  
  
( _Take away one sense and the others get stronger._ )  
  
"Anyway," says Dom again. "What I'm saying is..." he pauses, and if Billy were to open his eyes again, open his eyes and roll over (which would be too much effort), he's sure Dom'd have a crease right across the center of his forehead, just like he always does when he's trying to think. "What I'm saying. Is that all my life I've been doing things, been taking jobs, been meeting people, and none of it has ever seemed right. Like I've been waiting. Like something's been keeping me from -"  
  
"D'you believe in fate?" Billy interrupts. This time it almost completely sounds like words, just a little muffled, a little mixed-up, and he doesn't know why he's asking, but he does it anyway. Maybe it's because he knows, knows all-too-fucking-well, what Dom's talking about. Maybe something else. Maybe it's the booze. Maybe -  
  
"Fate?" asks Dom, and his voice is close, really close, and this time Billy does open his eyes. Opens his eyes and finds that at some point Dom's moved so that he's right next to Billy, as close as he can be without touching him, leaning on his side with his head propped up on his hand, and Billy feels reality sliding away. Like maybe they're not really talking about Dom's career choices or why he's ended up here - New Zealand here, not next-to-Billy-on-the-floor here - but about something else entirely.  
  
Flexing his fingers experimentally, he finds that they've gone numb. Can't feel the carpet underneath his body, is pretty sure he wouldn't be able to feel Dom's day-old stubble if he were to reach his hand up and touch his face.  
  
( _Take away one sense and the others get stronger._ )  
  
"Fate," he says. "You know. Things are supposed to happen. You go down all these paths, and none of them work, they're all fucking... dead ends, because," and he gestures towards the ceiling, "someone up there's said you're meant to do this."  
  
And there, there's the forehead wrinkle, right across the center.  
  
"Meant to do what?" Dom says, in a voice like crackling leaves, and Billy feels the slow slide of eyelashes on his cheeks again - once, twice, and then once more - before he can even open his mouth to respond, because it's definitely not about New Zealand anymore.  
  
Dominic usually radiates energy, little blue-grey sparks of life flashing off him, like he's got so much inside that he just can't contain it. He  _vibrates_.  
  
Right now Dominic is still, and it might be exhaustion and it might be the booze and it might be something else entirely - and the only sparks are in his eyes.  
  
"This," Billy whispers, and the word comes out clear.  
  
And then, by some twist of - don't say, it, don't say it - tendons or ligaments or what-fucking-ever, Dom's elbow gives out, or maybe he meant to, but either way, he falls forward so his mouth is close, so close, to Billy's, and he blinks and Billy can feel  _his_  eyelashes too.  
  
"This?" asks Dom, his breath ghosting over Billy's lips.  
  
"Yeah," says Billy. "Yeah."  
  
And then there's blood rushing in his ears, so loud that he can't hear a damn thing, but ( _take away one sense and the others get stronger_ ) it doesn't matter because Dom tastes like promise, like second chances for everything Billy's ever fucked up.  
  
"I believe in fate," says Dom against his mouth, and Billy sees mountains of possibilities.


	43. Mutual [VM/EW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a "song lyrics" challenge; the song I used was 'Needle in the Hay' by Elliott Smith.

Orlando's been gone for weeks now and you've been haunting the places you and he used to visit, letting imagination do what memory's already begun to forget. You know he's with Dominic because Dominic told you, because Dominic thought it'd be better if you heard it from him than from someone else, but the fact that Elijah's on his own now too doesn't even filter into your mind until you see him one night in a tacky nightclub, smack in the middle of a throng of writhing bodies.  
  
You watch him from the corner, eyeing him over your glass of scotch or gin or whatever it is you're drinking, you don't know, you've lost track any more. There's too much smoke in the club, too much smoke in your eyes, and even though most of it's coming from you, you're annoyed, almost to the point of anger.  
  
He's strung out and thin, and you wonder what happened to the boy you knew, except you sort of know, so. The strobe lights flash over his skin and turn it vile, too-bright colors, but it only accentuates his pallor, heightens it, makes it that much more obvious.  
  
In the haze and the blinking lights he looks like he's moving slow motion, and you consider saying something to him but sip your drink and continue to watch instead.  
  
The inside of your mouth feels like cotton.  
  
::  
  
"Viggo," he says when he catches sight of you, and his eyes are glazed and far too blue. He stumbles, trip-falling halfway into you, and you grab his shoulders instinctively.  
  
He giggles, and his breath smells of whiskey and drugs, and you think part of that is the club but not all of it.  
  
Not all of it.  
  
He's acting dumb, and that's what you've come to expect, but you can't blame him because if you were his age you'd be the same way.  
  
You prefer to show things differently - not at all, in other words - and you guess that maybe that comes with age, or experience, or maybe, maybe that's just you.  
  
"Elijah," you say, and tilt his chin up.  
  
He laughs again, and then collapses, and he feels heavy in your arms.  
  
You manage to drag him outside, where the rush of air makes him flutter back into consciousness, and you both get into the first taxi you can find.  
  
The ride to your apartment feels interminable, and you can't help staring out of the corner of your eye at the boy with his head lolling tiredly on your shoulder.  
  
"How much longer?" he asks, and it sounds more like the voice you remember and less like the cracked shell of the one you heard just a moment before.  
  
"Four more blocks," you tell him, and wonder if your voice sounds any different to him, sounds any different to anyone.  
  
::  
  
"Haven't been here in a while," Elijah says when you step inside and flip the switch on, pulling him in with hands that are none too gentle, even though you're trying. His eyes flit over the half-finished painting propped up on your dining room table, a calculated mess of reds and greys that isn't anything, really, except catharsis.  
  
"Yeah," you say, and shrug, because it's true, because there isn't anything else to say, because maybe talking more would lead to delving into more dangerous territory and you don't want that and you're pretty sure he doesn't etiher.  
  
You set down a glass of water and a cracked shot glass of whiskey on the coffee table and motion for him to sit down. "Hair of the dog," you say, and push a pile of old newspapers off the couch so he has room.  
  
He tips the shot back with ease and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows.  
  
"I thought," he says apropos of nothing, rolling the shot glass between clammy hands, "you know, I thought, 'he's gonna make it all okay'." He looks at you and his eyes unglaze. "Are you, Vig?"  
  
"Sleep it off, Lij," you tell him, and hand him a blanket, and go to sleep it off alone, like you've been doing for the past few weeks.  
  
::  
  
When you wake up, early-afternoon sun shining clear and bright through the windows and warming your face, he's standing in your doorway watching you with his eyes bloodshot. He smiles a little when he sees you stir, and there's a stiffness to the way he moves that makes you wonder how long he's been standing there.  
  
You recognize the shirt he's wearing, even though it isn't the one he wore last night and you know he didn't have anything with him because why would he? It takes you a minute or two, still sleep-hazy, to realize that he's wearing your clothes, and another few minutes to realize that you don't know what to say about that.  
  
"You're quiet," you say instead, and dig your knuckles into your eyes. With your other hand you grope half-blindly for the mug of water you always keep by your bed, and end up spilling it onto your comforter, staining the fabric a darker blue.  
  
"I can be quiet whenever I want," he says above your muttered curses, and you look up at him and you wonder what he's talking about, and you wonder why he's here.  
  
::  
  
Sometime around dusk you suggest he should maybe leave, mostly because he looks excruciatingly bored sitting in your patched-up armchair chain smoking, partly because you've found you can't keep your eyes away from the way his fingers scrabble at the package every time he pulls out a new cigarette, and you're too smart to get bitten twice.  
  
When he stands up and speaks you're almost sure you've heard him wrong, and so you say "what?" distractedly, and it takes a few seconds before you glance up at him.  
  
"Leave," he says, and sneers at you, and something inside you tugs and turns over at the practiced curve of his lips. "Like Orlando did, right?"  
  
You know all he wants is a reaction, you can tell by the way the hard look on his face wavers when your eyes meet his, but you snap anyway, blood boiling, and before you even realize what you're doing you've got him trapped hard against the wall, your body flush against his. "You think you know what he did?" you snarl, teeth bared, and you can see your reflection distorted and upside-down in his overlarge eyes. "You idiot kid," and you push harder against him for emphasis, his head knocking back against the cream-colored expanse behind him, "you don't have a clue."  
  
You shake your head and breathe deep through your nose, and then let out a sigh because he  _does_  know. "It's not my fault, Elijah. Don't take your shit out on me because he and Dominic -"  
  
He cuts you off with a vicious, bruising kiss, hands coming up to fist in your hair so hard it hurts, and then whispers harsh against your lips, "fuck both of them, Viggo." He blinks at you, vulnerable again, and repeats himself, more insistently this time. "Fuck both of them."  
  
One hand drops to your shoulder and his fingers curl around the worn fabric desperately, and you decide in a manner of seconds that feel like an eternity or two that you're quite frankly not about to say no to a boy who tugs and pleads and squirms under you like he's doing now, not about to say no to a boy who's pulled you out of a slump you've up-til-now refused to admit you've been in.  
  
The needle in the hay, you think as you propel the two of you down the hallway and into the bedroom with the still-damp blankets, comes in many guises, including boys with toobright eyes and jeans you've worn three thousand times before.


	44. Give In [Keira Knightley/Jack Davenport]

There is something about Keira that rubs Jack wrong from the very first day he meets her, something in the ridiculously self-assured set of her shoulders or the "I'm so important, listen to me for fuck's sake" cadence of her voice that she doesn't even bother to try to hide.  
  
Impudent twit, he thinks, and avoids her whenever possible, which ends up being less time than he likes.  
  
He watches the way she flirts with Orlando and Geoffrey and Johnny and every other goddamn person on set, tossing her hair so it catches the Caribbean sunlight, pouting her perfect lips when they don't do something she wants them to, and Jack thinks, she's got them all under her tiny thumb and she knows it, she bloody well  _knows_  it.  
  
She never looks his way for more than a few minutes, except for when they're acting, and Jack tells himself he's glad.  
  
::  
  
On the thirty-fifth day of shooting Keira throws a tantrum that doesn't become her at all, and Jack decides it's quite enough, really, and corners her as she's stomping off-set, dress billowing behind her. He grabs her shoulder, spins her around, pushes her against the wall of one of the makeshift buildings, and thinks briefly that he's probably ruining her costume but doesn't care.  
  
"Little fucking brat," he spits out, and can barely keep from slapping her when she grins, when her eyes light up and she laughs in something that sounds suspiciously like triumph. His fingers tighten on her shoulder, but she doesn't flinch, just keeps smiling, infuriatingly.  
  
"It's about time," she says, and her voice is huskier than he remembers, less little-girl and more something else, something vaguely intriguing. "I was wondering when you'd finally give in," Keira says, and this time Jack can't keep his other hand from swinging back, but he doesn't hit her, just leaves it hanging in the air, a threat.  
  
"Listen to me, little one," Jack snarls, "I'd fuck Orlando before I'd fuck you," but when Keira reaches a hand between him and cups the front of his breeches he lets out a low groan that belies his words.  
  
" _Liar_ ," she hisses, and before Jack catches himself he's got both hands tangled in her hair and he's kissing her, hard and rough and bruising, and she kisses him back the same way, and her hand's still between them rubbing and he arches into her, presses her back into the wall.  
  
"Was about to give in if you weren't going to," she mumbles against his lips, suddenly honey-sweet and vulnerable, and Jack realizes he may have previously made a slight error in judgment.


	45. Fraction [BB/DM/Keira Knightley]

_one third_  
  
Keira adjusts the faucet and leans back against the pillow, sighing contentedly. Closing her eyes, she runs one hand languidly through the water, feeling it swirl smoothly between her fingers. Tendrils of steam begin to rise up, curling and waving in the air, making her hair grow damp and stick to the sides of her face.  
  
She dips her other hand into the water and slides it slowly down her belly, the small smile on her face the only intimation that she's noticed the quiet snick of the door, the rush of cold air that hits her, making her nipples pebble, the muffled sounds of sex - labored breathing and skin-on-skin - from the hallway.  
  
Soon enough she forgets to pretend to ignore them and moans their names, first one then the other, the words tumbling together and falling from her lips like raindrops.  
  
When she comes, twisting her fingers and clutching the side of the tub, water sloshing over the edge, bright images of green and grey flash behind her eyelids.  
  
::  
  
 _two thirds_  
  
Billy grabs Keira's hand and pulls her into the alley, pushing her hard against the cold bricks. He kisses her roughly, her head banging against the wall, his stubble scraping her skin.  
  
Quiet, he tells her as he pulls up her skirt, and she smiles and screams just to spite him. He bites down on her shoulder as he thrusts into her, tiny perfect teeth making a mark that won't be going away any time soon. She shudders and scrabbles at the bricks behind her, but there is no leverage to be found. Billy grins and kisses her again, grasping her waist as she threatens to fall forward. Burying her head in the crook of his neck, Keira smells cologne that isn't his, and smiles.  
  
Billy reaches a hand between them, twists and rubs against her, and the next time she cries out, the sound reverberating in the narrow space, it is entirely involuntary.  
  
::  
  
 _(whole)_  
  
They pile into the taxi, Dominic's hand on the small of her back, Billy right behind them. Keira leans forward and tells the cabbie to just drive, to go and not to stop until they tell him. There is a flash of recognition in his dark eyes, of hey-isn't-that-yeah-it-is, and she slips several bills through the divider and into his hands. He nods in understanding and presses on the gas.  
  
Slamming the partition shut, Keira sits back, the sun falling through the dirty windows, glinting brightly in her eyes and blinding her for a moment. When she looks up, Billy and Dominic are a blur before her, a haze of lips and hands and tongues and teeth. She watches for a moment - all sharp angles and sheer beauty, both of them - before they turn and attack her, matching wicked smiles on both their faces.  
  
Perfect, she whispers as her laughter subsides, as they fall into an easy, practiced rhythm, their gasps and groans muffled slightly by the cracked leather that sticks to their skin.  
  
Perfect, Dominic murmurs against her lips, and on the other side of her, Billy hastens to agree.


	46. Amargura [BB/DM]

The plane ride is long; interminable. Dominic sleeps restlessly, waking every so often to glance out the window.  
  
Mexico, he thinks, and smiles.  
  
Billy meets him at the gate, a wide smile on his tanned face. There is dirt under his fingernails, and a rip in the hem of his shirt.  
  
Mexico, he says as they embrace; tendrils of his newly-bleached hair tickling Dominic's nose. Mexico, Dom. You're going to love it. It's amazing here.  
  
There is a gleam in his eyes that Dominic has not seen before.  
  
Mexico, he whispers. It feels strange and foreign on his lips.  
  
::  
  
The ocean here is harsh, unforgiving. The waves pick Dominic up and throw him back down again; he flounders, lost. The shore, with its white-hot sand, sparkles and mocks him from far away.  
  
He looks up, bobbing like a cork, and sees Billy balanced perfectly atop his board, riding a wave as though he were meant to do nothing else in life. His lips move, but Dominic can't make out the words.  
  
The taste of salt, of seawater, clings to Billy like a second skin.  
  
Dominic wonders if everyone who visits Mexico tastes like that.  
  
He doesn't think so.  
  
::  
  
The air around him is heavy; almost tangible. Stifled. The off-white linen curtains show no sign of movement at the windows; they hang limp, weighed down. Nights here are darker, but shorter.  
  
He strikes a match and lights the candle by his bedside. A dull glow infuses the room; the flame doesn't flicker.  
  
Reaching one hand skywards, he traces a crack in the ceiling; watches bits of plaster flake off and fall. Listens to the incessant buzz of cicadas; the only noise that penetrates the stillness.  
  
Mexico doesn't want him here.  
  
Mexico, Dominic thinks, wants Billy all to herself.  
  
::  
  
Te amo, Billy whispers as he thrusts up, bucking against Dominic, ah, te amo.  
  
The words roll off his lips like liquid, as though he's been speaking the language for the whole of his life. Dominic understands the words, but part of him wonders who Billy is really talking to.  
  
_I have him_ , Mexico seems to be saying to Dominic,  _I have more to offer and he knows it._  
  
Her voice has grown steadily clearer the longer he's been here.  
  
As Billy shudders against him, whispering Spanish nothings into the air, Dominic thinks it may be time to admit defeat.  
  
::  
  
You don't like it here? Billy asks in the car.  
  
It's not that, Dominic replies. I have things to do.  
  
I can't compete with her remains unsaid; he isn't sure if Billy would even know what he was talking about. She is crafty; subtle in weaving her spells.  
  
Oh, Billy says.  
  
The rest of the ride is silent.  
  
As the plane rises higher, Dominic looks out the window and down at Mexico, who is rapidly shrinking. She winks prettily at him from far below, winks prettily and smugly.  
  
Mexico, he mutters, and sighs. The word tastes bitter in his mouth.


End file.
